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BLUE HAND 


BY 

EDGAR WALLACE 



BOSTON 

SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 






Copyright, 1923 
By EDGAR WALLACE 


Second Printing, September, ig26 

sbao'rif 


Made in the United States of America 

Bound by the Boston Bookbinding Company 
Cambridge, Mass. 

U. S. A. 


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BLUE HAND 


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BLUE HAND 


CHAPTER ONE 

M r. SEPTIMUS SALTER pressed the bell on 
his table for the third time and uttered a 
soft growl. 

He was a stout, elderly man, and with his big red 
face and white side-whiskers, looked more like a pros¬ 
perous farmer than a successful lawyer. The cut of 
his clothes was queerly out of date, the high white collar 
and the black satin cravat that bulged above a flowered 
waistcoat, were of the fashion of 1850, in which year 
Mr. Salter was a little ahead of his time, so far as fash¬ 
ions were concerned. But the years had caught him up 
and passed him, and although there was not a more up- 
to-date solicitor in London, he remained faithful to the 
style in which he had made a reputation as a “buck.” 
He pressed the bell again, this time impatiently. 
“Confound the fellow!” he muttered, and rising to 
his feet, he stalked into the little room where his secre¬ 
tary was usually to be found. 

He had expected to find the apartment empty, but 
it was not. A chair had been drawn sideways up to the 
big ink-stained table, and kneeling on this, his elbows on 
the table, his face between his hands, was a young man 
who was absorbed in the perusal of a document, one of 
the many which littered the table. 


2 


BLUE HAND 


“Steele!’’ said Mr. Salter sharply, and the reader 
looked up with a start and sprang to his feet. 

He was taller than the average and broad of shoulder, 
though he gave an impression of litheness. His tanned 
face spoke eloquently of days spent out of doors, the 
'straight nose, the firm mouth, and the strong chin were 
all part of the characteristic “soldier face” molded by 
four years of war into a semblance of hardness. 

Now he was a little confused, more like the guilty 
schoolboy than the V.C. who had tackled eight enemy 
aeroplanes, and had come back to his aerodrome with 
a dozen bullets in his body. 

“Really, Steele,” said Mr. Salter reproachfully, “you 
are too bad. I have rung the bell three times for you.” 

“I’m awfully sorry, sir,” said Jim Steele, and that dis¬ 
arming smile of his went straight to the old man’s heart. 

“What are you doing here?” growled Mr. Salter, 
looking at the papers on the desk, and then with a “tut” 
of impatience, “aren’t you tired of going over the Dan- 
ton case?” 

“No, sir, I’m not,” said Steele quietly. “I have a 
feeling that Lady Mary Danton can be found, and I 
think if she is found there will be a very satisfactory 
explanation for her disappearance, and one which will 
rather disconcert-” he stopped, fearful of commit¬ 

ting an indiscretion. 

Mr. Salter looked at him keenly and helped himself 
to a pinch of snuff. 

“You don’t like Mr. Groat?” he asked and Jim 
laughed. 

“Well, sir, it’s not for me to like him or dislike him,” 
he replied. “Personally, I’ve no use for that.kind of 
person. The only excuse a man of thirty can produce 


BLUE HAND 3 

for not having been in the war, is that he was dead at 
the time.’’ 

''He had a weak heart,” suggested Mr. Salter, but 
without any great conviction. 

"I think he had,” said Jim with a little twist of his 
lips. "We used to call it a 'poor heart’ in the army. 
It made men go sick on the eve of a battle, and drove 
them into dug-outs when they should have been ad¬ 
vancing across the open with their comrades.” 

Mr. Salter looked down at the papers. 

"Put them away, Steele,” he said quietly. "You’re 
not going to get any satisfaction out of the search for a 
woman who—why, she must have disappeared when 
you were a child of five.” 

"I wish, sir-” began Steele, and hesitated, "of 

course, it’s really no business of mine,” he smiled, "and 
I’ve no right to ask you, but I’d like to hear more de¬ 
tails of that disappearance if you can spare me the time 
—and if you feel inclined. I’ve never had the courage 
to question you before. What is the real story of her 
disappearance?” 

Mr. Salter frowned, and then the frown was gradu¬ 
ally replaced by a smile. 

"I think, Steele, you’re the worst secretary I ever 
had,” he said in despair. "And if I weren’t your god¬ 
father and morally bound to help you, I should write 
you a polite little note saying your services were not 
required after the end of this week.” 

Jim Steele laughed. 

"I have expected that ever since I’ve been here,” 
he said. 

There was a twinkle in the old lawyer’s eyes. He 
was secretly fond of Jim Steele; fonder than the boy 





4 


BLUE HAND 


could have imagined. But it was not only friendship 
and a sense of duty that held Jim down in his job. 
The young man was useful, and despite his seeming 
inability to hear bells when he was wrapped up in his 
favorite study, most reliable. 

“Shut that door,” he said gruffly, and when the 
other had obeyed, “I’m telling this story to you,” and 
he pointed a warning finger at Jim Steele, “not be¬ 
cause I want to satisfy your curiosity, but because I 
hope that I’m going to kill all interest in the Danton 
mystery, as you call it, for ever morel Lady Mary 
Danton was the only daughter of the Earl of Plimstock 
—a title which is now extinct. She married, when she 
was quite a young girl, Jonathan Danton, a millionaire 
shipowner, and the marriage was not a success. Jona¬ 
than was a hard, sour man, and a sick man, too. You 
talk about Digby Groat having a bad heart, well, Jona¬ 
than had a real bad one. I think his ill-health was 
partly responsible for his harsh treatment of his wife. 
At any rate, the baby that was born to them, a girl, 
did not seem to bring them together—in fact, they 
grew farther apart. Danton had to go to America on 
business. Before he left, he came to this office and sit¬ 
ting at that very table, he signed a will, one of the most 
extraordinary wills that I have ever had engrossed. 
He left the whole of his fortune to his daughter 
Dorothy, who was then three or four months old. In 
the event of her death, he provided that the money 
should go to his sister, Mrs. Groat, but not until twenty 
years after the date of the child’s death. In the mean¬ 
time Mrs. Groat was entitled to enjoy the income from 
the estate.” 

“Why did he do that?” asked Jim, puzzled. 


BLUE HAND 


5 


“I think that is easily understood,” said Mr. Salter. 
“He was providing against the child’s death in its in¬ 
fancy, and he foresaw that the will might be contested 
by Lady Mary. As it was drawn up—I haven’t ex¬ 
plained all the details—it could not be so contested for 
twenty years. However, it was not contested,” he said 
quietly. “Whilst Danton was in America, Lady Mary 
disappeared and with her the baby. Nobody knew 
where she went to, but the baby and a strange nurse, 
who for some reason or other had care of the child, were 
traced to Margate. Possibly Lady Mary was there, 
too, though we have no evidence of this. We do know 
that the nurse, who was the daughter of a fisherman 
and could handle a boat, took the child out on the sea 
one summer day and was overtaken by a fog. All the 
evidence shows that the little boat was run down by a 
liner, and its battered wreck was picked up at sea, and 
a week later the body of the nurse was recovered. We 
never knew what became of Lady Mary. Danton re¬ 
turned a day or two after the tragedy, and the news 
was broken to him by Mrs. Groat, his sister. It killed 
him.” 

“And Lady Mary was never seen again?” 

Salter shook his head. 

“So you see, my boy,” he rose, and dropped his hand 
on the other’s shoulder, “even if by a miracle you could 
find Lady Mary, you could not in any way affect the 
position of Mrs. Groat, or her son. There is only one 
tiny actress in this drama who could ever have bene¬ 
fited by Jonathan Danton’s will, and she,” he lowered 
his voice until it was little more than a whisper, “she 
is beyond recall—beyond recall I” 

There was a moment of silence. 


6 


BLUE HAND 


‘‘I realize that, sir,’' said Jim Steele quietly, 
%nly -” 

‘Duly what?” 

“I have a queer feeling that there is something wrong 
about the whole business, and I believe that if I gave 
my time to the task I could unveil this mystery.” 

Mr. Salter looked at his secretary sharply, but Jim 
Steele met his eyes without faltering. 

“You ought to be a detective,” he said ironically. 

“I wish to heaven I was,” was the unexpected reply. 
“I offered my services to Scotland Yard two years ago 
when the Thirteen Gangs were holding up the banks 
with impunity.” 

“Oh, you did, did you?” said the lawyer sarcastically 
as he opened the door, and then suddenly he turned. 
“Why did I ring for you?” he asked. “Oh, I remem¬ 
ber! I want you to get out all those Dan ton leases of 
the Cumberland property.” 

“Is Mrs. Groat selling?” asked Steele. 

“She can’t sell, yet,” said the lawyer, “but on the 
thirtieth of May, providing a caveat is not entered, she 
takes control of the Danton millions.” 

“Or her son does,” said Jim significantly. He had 
followed his employer back to the big private office 
with its tiers of deed boxes, its worn furniture and 
threadbare carpet and general air of mustiness. 

“A detective, eh?” snorted Mr. Salter as he sat down 
at his table. “And what is your equipment for your 
new profession?” 

Jim smiled, but there was an unusual look in his 
face. 

“Faith,” he said quietly. 


BLUE HAND 7 

“Faith? What is faith to a detective?” asked the 
startled Salter. 

“ Taith is the substance of things hoped for; the 
evidence of things unseen/ ” Jim quoted the passage 
almost solemnly and for a long time Mr. Salter did not 
speak. Then he took up a slip of paper on which he 
had scribbled some notes, and passed it across to Jim. 

“See if you can ‘detect’ these deeds, they are in the 
strong-room,” he said, but in spite of his jesting words 
he was impressed. 

Jim took up the slip, examined it, and was about to 
speak when there came a tap at the door and a clerk 
slipped into the room. 

“Will you see Mr. Digby Groat, sir?” he asked. 


CHAPTER TWO 


M r. SALTER glanced up with a humorous 
glint in his eye. 

“Yes,’’ he said with a nod, and then to 
Jim as he was about to make a hurried exit, “you can 
wait, Steele. Mr. Groat wrote in his letter that he 
wanted to see the deeds, and you may have to conduct 


him to the strong-room.” 

Jim Steele said nothing. 

Presently the clerk opened the door and a young man 
walked in. 

Jim had seen him before and had liked him less 
every time he had met him. The oblong sallow face, 
with its short black mustache, the sleepy eyes, and 
rather large chin and prominent ears, he could have 
painted, if he were an artist, with his eyes shut. And 
yet Digby Groat was good-looking. Even Jim could 
not deny that. He was a credit to his valet. From 
the top of his pomaded head to his patent shoes he was 
an exquisite. His morning coat was of the most 
fashionable cut and fitted him perfectly. One could 
have used the silk hat he carried in his hand as a 
mirror, and as he came into the room exuding a delicate 
aroma of Quelques Fleurs, Jim’s nose curled. He^ 
hated men who scented themselves, however daintily 
the process was carried out. 

Digby Groat looked from the lawyer to Steele withi 
that languid, almost insolent look in his dark eyes ' 
which the lawyer hated as much as his secretary. 

8 


9 


BLUE HAND 

‘'Good morning, Salter,” he said. 

He took a silk handkerchief from his pocket and, 
lusting a chair, sat down uninvited, resting his lemon- 
gloved hands upon a gold-headed ebony cane. 

"You know Mr. Steele, my secretary,” said Salter. 
The other nodded his glossy head. 

"Oh, yes, he's a Victoria Cross person, isn't he?” 
le asked wearily. "I suppose you find it very dull 
lere, Steele? A place like this would bore me to 
leath.” 

"I suppose it would,” said Jim, ‘'but if you'd had 
our years' excitement of war, you would welcome this 
lace as a calm haven of rest.” 

"I suppose so,” said the other shortly. He was not 
X) well pleased by Jim's reference to the fact that he 
ad escaped the trials of war. 

"Now, Dr. Groat-” but the other stopped him 

ith a gesture. 

"Please don't call me ‘doctor,"' he said with a 
lined expression. "The fact that I have been 
trough the medical schools and have gained my de- 
ees in surgery, is one which I wish you would forget, 
qualified for my own amusement, and if people get 
to the habit of thinking of me as a ‘doctor,' I shall 
! called up all hours of the night by all sorts of 
iretched patients.” 

[It was news to Jim that this sallow dandy had 
aduated in medicines. 

i‘‘I came to see those Lakeside leases, Salter,” Groat 
nt on. "I have had an offer—I should say, my 
)ther has had an offer—from a syndicate which is 
acting an hotel upon her property. I understand 
ire is some clause in the lease which prevents build- 




10 


BLUE HAND 


ing operations of that character. If so, it was beastly 
thoughtless of old Danton to acquire such a property.” 

‘‘Mr. Danton did nothing either thoughtless or 
beastly thoughtless,” said Salter quietly, “and if you 
had mentioned it in your letter, I could have telephoned 
you the information and saved your calling. As it is, 
Steele will take you to the strong-room and you can 
examine the leases at your leisure.” 

Groat looked at Jim sceptically. 

“Does he know anything about leases?” he asked. 
“And must I really descend into your infernal cellar 
and catch my death of cold? Can^t the leases be 
brought up for me?” 

“If you will go into Mr. Steele^s room I daresay he 
will bring them to you,” said Salter, who did not like 
his client any more than Jim did. Moreover, he had 
a shrewd suspicion that the moment the Groats gained 
possession of the Danton fortune, they would find an¬ 
other lawyer to look after their affairs. 

Jim took the keys and returned with an armful of 
deeds, to discover that Groat was no longer with his 
chief. 

“I sent him into your room,” said Salter. “Take 
the leases in and explain them to him. If there’s any¬ 
thing you want to know I’ll come in.” 

Jim found the young man in his room. He was 
examining a book he had taken from a shelf. 

“What does ‘dactylology’ mean?” he asked, looking 
round as Jim came in. “I see you have a book on the 
subject.” 

“Finger prints,” said Jim Steele briefly. He hated 
the calm proprietorial attitude of the man and, more¬ 
over, Mr. Groat was examining his own private library. 


BLUE HAND 11 

‘Tinger prints, eh?” said Groat, replacing the book. 
“Are you interested in finger-prints?” 

“A little,” said Jim. “Here are the Lakeside 
leases, Mr. Groat. I made a sketchy examination of 
them in the strong-room and there seems to be no 
clause preventing the erection of the building you 
mention.” 

Groat took the document in his hand and turned it 
leaf by leaf. 

“No,” he said at last, and then putting down the 
document, “so you’re interested in finger prints, eh? 
I didn’t know old Salter did a criminal business.” 

“He has very little common law practice,” said 
Jim. 

“What are these?” asked Groat. 

By the side of Jim’s desk was a book-shelf filled with 
thick black exercise books. 

“Those are my private notes,” said Jim and the 
other looked round with a sneering smile. 

“What the devil have you got to make notes about, 
I wonder?” he asked, and before Jim could stop him, 
he had taken one of the exercise books down. 

“If you don’t mind,” said Jim firmly, “I would 
rather you left my private property alone.” 

“Sorry, but I thought everything in old Salter’s office 
had to do with his clients.” 

“You’re not the only client,” said Jim. He was not 
one to lose his temper, but this insolent man was trying 
his patience sorely. 

“What is it all about?” asked the languid Groat, 
as he turned one page. 

Jim, standing at the other side of the table watching 
him, saw a touch of color come into the man’s yellow 


12 


BLUE HAND 


face. The black eyes hardened and his languid inter¬ 
est dropped away like a cloak. 

''What is this?'' he asked sharply. "What the hell 
are you-" 

He checked himself with a great effort and laughed, 
but the laugh was harsh and artificial. 

"You're a wonderful fellow, Steele," he said with a 
return to his old air of insouciance. "Fancy bothering 
your head about things of that sort." 

He put the book back where he had found it, picked 
up another of the leases and appeared to be read¬ 
ing it intently, but Jim, watching him, saw that he 
was not reading, even though he turned page after 
page. 

"That is all right," he said at last, putting the lease 
down and taking up his top hat. "Some day perhaps 
you will come and dine with us, Steele. I've had 
rather a stunning laboratory built at the back of our 
house in Grosvenor Square. Old Salter called me 
doctor!" he chuckled quietly as though at a big joke, 
"well, if you come along, I will show you something 
that will at least justify the title." 

The dark brown eyes were fixed steadily upon Jim 
as he stood in the doorway, one yellow-gloved hand on 
the handle. 

"And, by-the-way, Mr. Steele," he drawled, "your 
studies are leading you into a danger zone for which 
even a second Victoria Cross could not adequately 
compensate you." 

He closed the door carefully behind him and Jim 
Steele frowned after him. 

"What the dickens does he mean?" he asked, and 




BLUE HAND 


13 


then remembered the exercise book through which 
Groat had glanced, and which had had so strange an 
effect upon him. He took the book down from the 
shelf and turning to the first page, read: ‘^Some notes 
upon the Thirteen Gang.” 


CHAPTER THREE 


' afternoon Jim Steele went into Mr. 
:er’s office. 



I’m going to tea now, sir,” he said. 


Mr. Salter glanced up at the solemn-faced clock that 
ticked audibly on the opposite wall. 

“All right,” he grumbled, “but you’re a very punctual 
tea-drinker, Steele. What are you blushing about—is 
it a girl?” 

“No, sir,” said Jim rather loudly. “I sometimes 
meet a lady at tea, but-” 

“Off you go,” said the old man gruffly. “And give 
her my love.” 

Jim was grinning, but he was very red, too, when he 
went down the stairs into Marlborough Street. He 
hurried his pace because he was a little late, and 
breathed a sigh of relief as he turned into the quiet 
tea-shop to find that his table was as yet unoccu¬ 
pied. 

As his tall, athletic figure strode through the room 
to the little recess overlooking Regent Street, which 
was reserved for privileged customers, many heads 
were turned, for Jim Steele was a splendid figure of 
British manhood, and the gray laughing eyes had 
played havoc in many a tender heart. 

But he was one of those men whose very idealism 
forbade trifling. He had gone straight from a public 
school into the tragic theater of conflict, and at an 



BLUE HAND 


15 


age when most young men were dancing attendance 
upon women, his soul was being seared by the red-hot 
irons of war. 

He sat down at the table and the beaming waitress 
came forward to attend to his needs. 

‘^Your young lady hasn^t come yet, sir,” she said. 

It was the first time she had made such a reference 
to Eunice Weldon and Jim stiffened. 

‘‘The young lady who has tea with me is not my 
‘young lady,’ ” he said a little coldly, and seeing that he 
had hurt the girl, he added with a gleam of mirth in 
those irresistible eyes, “she’s your young lady really.” 

“I’m sorry,” said the waitress, scribbling on her 
order pad to hide her confusion. “I suppose you’ll 
have the usual?” 

“I’ll have the usual,” said Jim gravely, and then 
with a quick glance at the door he rose to meet the 
girl who had at that moment entered. 

She was slim of build, straight as a plummet line 
from chin to toe; she carried herself with a dignity 
which was so natural that the men who haunt the 
pavement to leer and importune, stood on one side to 
let her pass, and then, after a glimpse of her face, 
cursed their own timidity. For it was a face Madonna¬ 
like in its purity. But a blue-eyed, cherry-lipped 
Madonna, vital and challenging. A bud of a girl 
breaking into the summer bloom of existence. In 
those sapphire eyes the beacon fires of life signaled 
her womanhood; they were at once a plea and a warn¬ 
ing. Yet she carried the banners of childhood no less 
triumphantly. The sensitive mouth, the round, girlish 
chin, the satin white throat and clean, transparent skin, 
unmarked, unblemished, these were the gifts of youth 


16 BLUE HAND 

which were carried forward to the account of her 
charm. 

Her eyes met Jim’s and she came forward with out¬ 
stretched hand. 

“I’m late,” she said gaily. “We had a tiresome 
duchess at the studio who wanted to be taken in seven¬ 
teen different poses—it is always the plain people who 
give the most trouble.” 

She sat down and stripped her gloves, with a smile 
at the waitress. 

“The only chance that plain people have of looking 
beautiful is to be photographed beautifully,” said Jim. 

Eunice Weldon was working at a fashionable photog¬ 
rapher’s in Regent Street. Jim’s meeting with her 
had been in the very room in which they were now 
sitting. The hangings at the window had accidentally 
caught fire, and Jini, in extinguishing them, had burnt 
his hand. It was Eunice Weldon who had dressed the 
injury. 

A service rendered by a man to a woman may not 
lead very much farther to a better acquaintance. 
When a woman helps a man it is invariably the begin¬ 
ning of a friendship. Women are suspicious of the 
services which men give and yet feel responsible for 
the man they have helped, even to the slightest extent. 

Since then they had met almost daily and taken tea 
together. Once Jim had asked her to go to a theater, 
an invitation which she had promptly but kindly de¬ 
clined. Thereafter he had made no further attempt to 
improve their acquaintance. 

“And how have you got on with your search for the 
missing lady?” she asked, as she spread some jam on 


BLUE HAND 17 

the thin bread-and-butter which the waitress had 
brought. 

Jim’s nose wrinkled—a characteristic grimace of his. 

“Mr. Salter made it clear to me to-day that even 
if I found the missing lady it wouldn’t greatly improve 
matters,” he said. 

“It would be wonderful if the child had been saved 
after all,” she said. “Have you ever thought of that 
possibility?” 

He nodded. 

“There is no hope of that,” he said shaking his 
head, “but it would be wonderful, as you say, and 
more wonderful,” he laughed, “if you were the missing 
heiress! ” 

“And there’s no hope of that either,” she said, shak¬ 
ing her head. “I’m the daughter of poor but honest 
parents, as the story-books say.” 

“Your father was a South African, wasn’t he?” 

She nodded. 

“Poor daddy was a musician, and mother I can 
hardly remember, but she must have been a dear.” 

“W^ere were you born?” asked Jim. 

She did not answer immediately because she was 
busy with her jam sandwich. 

“In Cape Town—Rondebosch, to be exact,” she 
said after a while. “Why are you so keen on finding 
your long-lost lady?” 

“Because I am anxious that the most unmitigated 
cad in the world should not succeed to the Danton 
millions.” 

She sat bolt upright. 

“The Danton millions?” she repeated slowly. 


18 


BLUE HAND 


‘Then who is your unmitigated cad? You have never 
yet mentioned the names of these people.” 

This was perfectly true. Jim Steele had not even 
spoken of his search until a few days before. 

“A man named Digby Groat.” 

She stared at him aghast. 

“Why, what’s the matter?” he asked in surprise. 

“When you said ‘Danton’ I remembered Mr. Curley 
—that is our chief photographer—saying that Mrs. 
Groat was the sister of Jonathan Danton,” she said 
slowly. 

“Do you know the Groats?” he asked quickly. 

“I don’t know them,” she said slowly, “at least, not 

very well, only-” she hesitated, “I’m going to be 

Mrs. Groat’s secretary.” 

He stared at her. 

“You never told me this,” he said, and as she 
dropped her eyes to her plate, he realized that he had 
made a faux pas. “Of course,” he said hurriedly 
“there’s no reason why you should tell me, but-” 

“It only happened to-day,” she said. “Mr. Groat 
has had some photographs taken—^his mother came with 
him to the studio. She’s been several times and I 
scarcely noticed them until to-day, when Mr. Curley 
called me into the office and said that Mrs. Groat was 
in need of a secretary and that it was a very good 
position; £5 a week, which is practically all profit be¬ 
cause I should live in the house.” 

“When did Mrs. Groat decide that she wanted a sec¬ 
retary?” asked Jim, and it was her turn to stare. 

“I don’t know, why do you ask that?” 

“She was at our office a month ago,” said Jim, “and 
Mr. Salter suggested that she should have a secretary 




BLUE HAND 


19 

to keep her accounts in order. She said then she hated 
the idea of having anybody in the house who was 
neither a servant nor a friend of the family.” 

‘Well, she’s changed her views now,” smiled the girl. 

“This means that we shan’t meet at tea any more. 
When are you going?” 

“To-morrow,” was the discouraging reply. 

He went back to his office more than a little dispir¬ 
ited. Something deep and vital seemed to have gone 
out of his life. 

“You’re in love, you fool,” he growled to himself. 

He opened the big diary which it was his business to 
keep and slammed down the covers savagely. 

Mr. Salter had gone home. He always went home 
early, and Jim lit his pipe and began to enter up the 
day’s transactions from the scribbled notes which his 
chief had left on his desk. 

He had made the last entry and was making a final 
search of the desk for some scrap which he might have 
overlooked. 

Mr. Salter’s desk was usually tidy, but he had a 
habit of concealing important memoranda, and Jim 
turned over the law books on the table in a search 
for any scribbled memo he might have missed. He 
found between two volumes a thin gilt-edged note¬ 
book, which he did not remember having seen before. 
He opened it to discover that it was a diary for the 
year 1901. Mr. Salter was in the habit of making 
notes for his own private reading, using a queer legal 
shorthand, which no clerk had ever been able to de¬ 
cipher. The entries in the diary were in these char¬ 
acters. 

Jim turned the leaves curiously, wondering how so 


20 


BLUE HAND 


methodical a man as the lawyer had left a private 
diary visible. He knew that in the big green safe in 
the lawyer’s office were stacks of these books, and 
possibly the old man had taken one out to refresh his 
memory. The writing was Greek to Jim, so that he 
felt no compunction in turning the pages filled as they 
were with indecipherable and meaningless scrawls, 
punctuated now and again with a word in longhand. 

He stopped suddenly, for under the heading “June 
4th” was quite a long entry. It seemed to have been 
written in subsequently to the original shorthand entry, 
for it was in green ink. This almost dated the in¬ 
scription. Eighteen months before, an oculist had sug¬ 
gested to Mr. Salter, who suffered from an unusual 
form of astigmatism, that green ink would be easier 
for him to read, and ever since then he had used no 
other. 

Jim took in the paragraph before he realized that he 
was committing an unpardonable act in reading his 
employer’s private notes. 

“One month imprisonment with hard labor. Holloway 
Prison. Released July 2nd. Madge Benson (this word was 
underlined), 14, Palmer’s Terrace, Paddington. 74, High- 
cliffe Gardens, Margate. Long enquiries with boatman who 
owned ‘Saucy Belle.’ No further trace-” 

Here the entry ended. 

“What on earth does that mean?” muttered Jim. 
“I must make a note of that.” 

He realized now that he was doing something which 
might be regarded as dishonorable, but he was so ab¬ 
sorbed in the new clues that he overcame his repug¬ 
nance. 



BLUE HAND 


21 


Obviously, this entry referred to the missing Lady 
Mary. Who the woman Madge Benson was, what the 
reference to Holloway Gaol meant, he would discover. 

He made a copy of the entry in the diary at the 
back of a card, went back to his room, locked the door 
of his desk and went home, to think out some plan of 
campaign. 

He occupied a small flat in a building overlooking 
Regent^s Park. It is true that his particular flat over¬ 
looked nothing but the backs of other houses, and a 
deep cutting through which were laid the lines of the 
London, Midland and Scottish Railway—he could have 
dropped a penny on the carriages as they passed, so 
near was the line. But the rent of the flat was only 
one-half of that charged for those in a more favorable 
position. And his flat was smaller than any. He had 
a tiny private income, amounting to two or three pounds 
a week, and that, with his salary, enabled him to main¬ 
tain himself in something like comfort. The three 
rooms he occupied were filled with priceless old fur¬ 
niture that he had saved from the wreckage of his 
father’s home, when that easy-going man had died, 
leaving just enough to settle his debts, which were 
many. 

Jim had got out of the lift on the fourth floor and 
had put the key in the lock when he heard the door 
on the opposite side of the landing open, and turned 
round. 

The elderly woman who came out wore the uniform 
of a nurse, and she nodded pleasantly. 

‘^How is your patient, nurse?” asked Jim. 

^^She’s very well, sir, or rather as well as you could 
expect a bedridden lady to be,” said the woman with a 


22 


BLUE HAND 


smile. “She^s greatly obliged to you for the books 
you sent in to her.” 

‘‘Poor soul,” said Jim sympathetically. “It must 
be terrible not to be able to go out.” 

The nurse shook her head. 

“I suppose it is,” she said, “but Mrs. Fane doesn^t 
seem to mind. You get used to it after seven years.” 

A “rat-tat” above made her lift her eyes. 

“There’s the post,” she said. “I thought it had 
gone. I’d better wait till he comes down.” 

The postman at Featherdale Mansions was carried 
by the lift to the sixth floor and worked his way to the 
ground floor. Presently they heard his heavy feet 
coming down and he loomed in sight. 

“Nothing for you, sir,” he said to Jim, glancing at 
the bundle of letters in his hand. 

“Miss Madge Benson—that’s you, nurse, isn’t it?” 

“That’s right,” said the woman briskly and took the 
letter from his hand, then with a little nod to Jim she 
went downstairs. 

Madge Benson! The name that had appeared in 
Salter’s diary! 


CHAPTER FOUR 


‘ ^ T ’M sick to death of hearing your views on the 
I subject, mother,” said Mr. Digby Groat, as he 

JL helped himself to a glass of port. ^Tt is suffi¬ 
cient for you that I want the girl to act as your secre¬ 
tary. Whether you give her any work to do or not is 
a matter of indifference to me. Whatever you do, you 
must not leave her with the impression that she is 
brought here for any other purpose than to write your 
letters and deal with your correspondence.” 

The woman who sat at the other side of the table 
looked older than she was. Jane Groat was over 
sixty, but there were people who thought she was 
twenty years more than that. Her yellow face was 
puckered and lined, her blue veined hands folded now 
on her lap, were gnarled and ugly. Only the dark 
brown eyes held their brightness undimmed. Her 
figure was bent and there was about her a curious 
cringing frightened look which was almost pitiable. 
She did not look at her son—she seldom looked at 
anybody. 

‘‘She’ll spy, she’ll pry,” she moaned. 

“Shut up about the girl!” he snarled, “and now 
we’ve got a minute to ourselves, I’d like to tell you 
something, mother.” 

Her uneasy eyes went left and right, but avoided 
him. There was a menace in his tone with which she 
was all too familiar. 


23 


24 


BLUE HAND 


‘Xook at this.” 

He had taken from his pocket something that 
sparkled and glittered in the light of the table lamp. 

^^What is it?” she whined without looking. 

‘‘It is a diamond bracelet,” he said sternly. “And 
it is the property of Lady Waltham. We were staying 
with the Walthams for the week-end. Look at it!” 

His voice was harsh and grating and dropping her 
head she began to weep painfully. 

“I found that in your room,” he said, and his suave 
manner was gone. “You old thief!” he hissed across 
the table, “can^t you break yourself of that habit?” 

“It looked so pretty,” she gulped, her tears trickling 
down her withered face. “I can’t resist the tempta¬ 
tion when I see pretty things.” 

“I suppose you know that Lady Waltham’s maid 
has been arrested for stealing this, and will probably 
go to prison for six months?” 

“I couldn’t resist the temptation,” she sniveled, 
and he threw the bracelet on the table with a growl. 

“I’m going to send it back to the woman and tell 
them it must have been packed away by mistake in 
your bag. I’m not doing it to get this girl out of 
trouble, but to save myself from a lot of unpleasant¬ 
ness.” 

“I know why you’re bringing this girl into the 
house,” she sobbed, “it is to spy on me.” 

His lips curled in a sneer. 

“To spy on you!” he said contemptuously and 
laughed as he rose. “Now understand,” his voice 
was harsh again, “you’ve got to break yourself of this 
habit of picking up things that you like. I’m expecting 
to go into Parliament at the next election, and I’m 


BLUE HAND 


25 


not going to have my position jeopardized by an old 
fool of a kleptomaniac. If there^s something wrong 
with your brain/’ he added significantly, ‘I’ve a neat 
little laboratory at the back of this house where that 
might be attended to.” 

She shrank back in terror, her face gray. 

“You—you wouldn’t do it—my own son!” she stam¬ 
mered. “I’m all right, Digby, it’s only- 

He smiled, but it was not a pleasant smile to see. 

“Probably there is a little compression/' he said 
evenly, “some tiny malgrowth of bone that is pressing 
on a particular cell. We could put that right for you, 
mother-” 

But she had thrown her chair aside and fled from 
the room before he had finished. He picked up the 
jewel, looked at it contemptuously and thrust it into 
his pocket. Her curious thieving propensities he had 
known for a very long time and had fought to check 
them, and as he thought, successfully. 

He went to his library, a beautiful apartment, with 
its silver grate, its costly rosewood bookshelves and 
its rare furnishings, and wrote a letter to Lady Wal¬ 
tham. He wrapped this about the bracelet, and having 
packed letter and jewel carefully in a small box, rang 
the bell. A middle-aged man with a dark, forbidding 
face, answered the summons. 

“Deliver this to Lady Waltham at once, Jackson,” 
said Digby. “The old woman is going out to a concert 
to-night, by-the-way, and when she’s out I want you 
to make a very thorough search of her room.” 

The man shook his head. 

“I’ve already looked carefully, Mr. Groat,” he said, 
“and I’ve found nothing.” 



26 BLUE HAND 

He was on the point of going when Digby' called 
him back. 

‘‘YouVe told the housekeeper to see to Miss Wel- 
don^s room?^^ 

‘‘Yes, sir,’^ was the reply. “She wanted to put 
her on the top floor amongst the servants, but I 
stopped her.” 

“She must have the best room in the house,” said 
Groat. “See that there are plenty of flowers in the 
room and put in the bookcase and the Chinese table 
that are in my room.” 

The man nodded. 

“What about the key, sir?” he asked after some hesi¬ 
tation. 

“The key?” Digby looked up. “The key of her 
room?” 

The man nodded. 

“Do you want the door to lock?” he asked signifi¬ 
cantly. 

Mr. Groat’s lips curled in a sneer. 

“You’re a fool,” he said. “Of course, I want the 
door to lock. Put bolts on if necessary.” 

The man looked his surprise. There was evidently 
between these two something more than the ordinary 
relationship which existed between employer and serv¬ 
ant. 

“Have you ever run across a man named Steele?” 
asked Digby, changing the subject. 

Jackson shook his head. 

“Who is he?” he asked. 

“He is a lawyer’s clerk. Give him a look up when 
you’ve got some time to spare. No, you’d better 


BLUE HAND 27 

not go—ask—ask Bronson. He lives at Featherdale 
Mansions.’’ 

The man nodded and Digby went down the steps 
to the waiting electric brougham. 

* * Jjs jjS 

Eunice Weldon had packed her small wardrobe and 
the cab was waiting at the door. She had no regrets 
at leaving the stuffy untidy lodging which had been her 
home for two years and her farewell to her disheveled 
landlady, who seemed always to have dressed in a 
violent hurry, was soon over. She could not share Jim 
Steele’s dislike of her new employers. She was too 
young to xegard a new job as anything but the begin¬ 
ning of an adventure which held all sorts of fascinat¬ 
ing possibilities. She sighed as she realized that the 
little tea-table talks which had been so pleasant a 
feature of her life were now to come to an end, and yet 
—surely he would make some effort to see her again? 

She would have hours—^perhaps half-days to herself, 
and then she remembered with dismay that she did 
not know his address! But he would know hers. 
That thought comforted her, for she wanted to see 
him again. She wanted to see him more than she had 
ever dreamt she would. She could close her eyes, and 
his handsome face, those true smiling eyes of his, 
would look into hers. The swing of his shoulders as 
he walked, the sound of his voice as he spoke—every 
characteristic of his was present in her mind. 

And the thought that she might not see him again— 

“I will see him—I will!” she murmured, as the cab 
stopped before the imposing portals of No. 409, Gros- 
venor Square. 


28 


BLUE HAND 


She was a little bewildered by the army of servants 
who came to her help and just a little pleased by the 
deference they showed to her. 

‘^Mrs. Groat will receive you, miss,^’ said a swarthy- 
looking man, whose name she afterwards learnt was 
Jackson. 

She was ushered into a small back drawing-room 
which seemed poorly furnished to the girPs eye, but to 
Mrs. Groat was luxury. 

The old woman resented the payment of a penny 
that was spent on decoration and furniture and only 
the fear of her son prevented her from disputing every 
account which was put before her for settlement. The 
meeting was a disappointment to Eunice. She had not 
seen Mrs. Groat except in the studio where she was 
beautifully dressed. She saw now a yellow-faced old 
woman, shabbily attired, who looked at her with dark 
disapproving eyes. 

‘Dh, so you’re the young woman who is going to be 
my secretary, are you?” she quavered dismally. 
‘^Have they shown you your room?” 

“Not yet, Mrs. Groat,” said the girl. 

“I hope you will be comfortable,” said Mrs. Groat 
in a voice that suggested that she had no very great 
hopes for anything of the sort. 

“When do I begin my duties?” asked Eunice, con¬ 
scious of a chill. 

“Oh, any time,” said the old woman off-handedly. 

She peered up at the girl. 

“You’re pretty,” she said grudgingly and Eunice 
flushed. Somehow that compliment sounded like an 
insult. “I suppose that’s why,” said Mrs. Groat ab¬ 
sently. 


BLUE HAND 


29 


“Why what?” asked the girl gently. 

She thought the woman was weak of intellect and 
had already lost whatever enthusiasm she had for her 
new position. 

“Nothing,” said the old woman, and with a nod dis¬ 
missed her. 

The room into which Eunice was shown left her 
speechless for a while. 

“Are you sure this is mine?” she asked incredu¬ 
lously. 

“Yes, miss,” said the housekeeper with a sidelong 
glance at the girl. 

“But this is beautiful I” said Eunice. 

The room would have been remarkable if it had been 
in a palace. The walls were paneled in brocade silk 
and the furniture was of the most beautiful quality. 
A small French bed, carved and, gilded elaborately, in¬ 
vited repose. Silk hangings hung at either side of the 
head and through the French windows she saw a 
balcony gay with laden flower-boxes. Under her feet 
was a carpet of blue velvet pile that covered the whole 
of the room. She looked round open-mouthed at the 
magnificence of her new home. The dressing-table 
was an old French model in the Louis Quinze style, in¬ 
laid with gold, and the matching wardrobe must have 
been worth a fortune. Near one window was a lovely 
writing-table and a well-filled bookcase would almost 
be within reach of her hand when she lay in bed. 

“Are you sure this is my loom?” she asked again. 

“Yes, miss,” said the housekeeper, “and this,” she 
opened a door, “is your bathroom. There is a bath to 
every room. Mr. Groat had the house reconstructed 
when he came into it.” 


30 


BLUE HAND 


The girl opened one of the French windows and 
stepped on to the balcony which ran along to a 
square and larger balcony built above the porch of 
the house. This, she discovered, opened from a land¬ 
ing above the stairs. 

She did not see Mrs. Groat again that afternoon and 
when she enquired she discovered that the old lady 
was lying down with a bad headache. Nor was she to 
meet Digby Groat. Her first meal was eaten in soli¬ 
tude. 

^^Mr. Groat has not come back from the country,” 
explained Jackson, who waited on her. “Are you com¬ 
fortable, miss?” 

“Quite, thank you,” she said. 

There was an air about this man which she did not 
like. It was not that he failed in respect, or that he 
was in any way familiar, but there was something 
proprietorial in his attitude. It almost seemed as 
though he had a financial interest in the place and she 
was glad when her meal was finished. She went 
straight up to her room a little dissatisfied that she 
had not met her employer. There were many things 
which she wanted to ask Mrs. Groat; and particularly 
did she wish to know what days she would be free. 

Presently she switched out the light, and opening 
the French windows, stepped out into the cool, fra¬ 
grant night. The afterglow of the sun still lingered in 
the sky. The square was studded with lights, an al¬ 
most incessant stream of motor-car traffic passed under 
her window, for Grosvenor Square is the short cut 
between Oxford Street and Piccadilly. 

The stars spangled the clear sky with a million 
specks of quivering light. Against the jeweled robe 


BLUE HAND 


31 


of the northern heavens, the roofs and steeples and 
stacks of London had a mystery and wonder which 
only the light of day could dispel. And in the majestic 
solitude of the night, Eunice’s heart seemed to swell 
until she could scarcely breathe. It was not the magic 
of stars that brought the blood flaming to her face; 
nor the music of the trees. It was the flash of under¬ 
standing that one half of her, one splendid fragment of 
the pattern on which her life was cut, was somewhere 
there in the darkness asleep perhaps—thinking of her, 
she prayed. She saw his face with startling distinct¬ 
ness, saw the tender kindness of his eyes, felt on her 
moist palm the pressure of those strong brown 
fingers. . . . 

With a sigh which was half a sob she closed the 
window and drew the silken curtains, shutting out the 
immortal splendors of nature from her view. 

Five minutes later she was asleep. 

How long she slept she did not know. It must 
have been hours she thought. The stream of traffic 
had ceased and there was no sound from outside, save 
the distant hoot of a motor-horn. The room was in 
darkness, and yet she was conscious that somebody was 
there! 

She sat up in bed and a cold shiver ran down her 
spine. Somebody was in the room! She reached out 
to turn on the light and could have shrieked, for she 
touched a hand, a cold, small hand that was resting 
on the bedside table. For a second she was paralyzed 
and then the hand was suddenly withdrawn. There 
was a rustle of curtain rings and the momentary 
glimpse of a figure against the lesser gloom of the night, 
and shaking in every limb, she leapt from the bed and 


32 


BLUE HAND 


switched on the light. The room was empty, but the 
French window was ajar. 

And then she saw on the table by her side, a gray 
card. Picking it up with shaking hands she read: 

‘‘One who loves you, begs you for your life and honor’s 
sake to leave this house.” 

It bore no other signature than a small blue hand. 

She dropped the card on the bed and stood staring 
at it for a while and then, slipping into her dressing- 
gown she unlocked the door of her room and went out 
into the passage. A dim light was burning at the head 
of the stairs. She was terror-stricken, hardly knew 
what she was doing, and she seemed to fly down the 
stairs. 

She must find somebody, some living human creature, 
some reality to which she could take hold. But the 
house was silent. The hall lamp was burning and by 
its light she saw the old clock and was dimly conscious 
that she could hear its solemn ticking. It was three 
o^clock. There must be somebody awake in the house. 
The servants might still be up, she thought wildly, 
and ran down a passage to what she thought was the 
entrance to the servants’ hall. She opened a door and 
found herself in another passage illuminated by one 
light at the farther end, where further progress was 
arrested by a white door. She raced along until she 
came to the door and tried to open it. There was no 
handle and it was a queer door. It was not made of 
wood, but of padded canvas. 

And then as she stood bewildered, there came from 
behind the padded door a squeal of agony, so shrill, 
so full of pain that her blood seemed to turn to ice. 


BLUE HAND 


33 


Again it shrieked and turning she fled back the way 
she had come, through the hall to the front door. Her 
trembling fingers fumbled at the key and presently the 
lock snapped and the door flew open. She staggered 
out on to the broad steps of the house and stopped, for 
a man was sitting on the head of those steps. 

He turned his face as the door opened and in the 
light from the hall he was revealed. It was Jim Steele 1 


CHAPTER FIVE 


J IM came stumbling to his feet, staring in blank 
amazement at the unexpected apparition and for 
a moment thus they stood, facing one another, 
the girl stricken dumb with fear and surprise. 

She thought he was part of a dreadful dream, an 
image that was conjured by her imagination and would 
presently vanish. 

‘^im—Mr. Steele!” she gasped. 

In a stride he was by her side, his arm about her 
shoulder. 

‘‘What is wrong?” he asked quickly, and in his 
anxiety his voice was almost harsh. 

She shuddered and dropped her head on his breast. 
“Oh, it was dreadful, dreadful!” she whispered and 
he heard the note of horror in her low voice. 

“May I ask what is the meaning of this?” de¬ 
manded a suave voice, and with a start the girl turned. 

A man was standing in the doorway and for a second 
she did not recognize him. Even Jim, who had seen 
Digby Groat at close quarters, did not know him in his 
unusual attire. He was dressed in a long white overall 
which reached from his throat to his feet; over his 
head was a white cap which fitted him so that not a 
particle of his hair could be seen. Bands of white 
elastic held his cuffs close to his wrists and both hands 
were hidden in brown rubber gloves. 

“May I again ask you. Miss Weldon, why you are 
standing on my doorstep in the middle of the night, 
34 


BLUE HAND 


35 


attired in clothes which I do not think are quite suit¬ 
able for street wear? Perhaps you will come inside 
and explain,” he said stepping back; ^‘Grosvenor 
Square is not quite used to this form of midnight enter¬ 
tainment.” 

Still clutching Jim’s arm the girl went slowly back 
to the passage and Digby shut the door. 

“And Mr. Steele, too,” said Digby with ironic sur¬ 
prise, “you’re a very early caller.” 

Jim said nothing. His attention was wholly devoted 
to the girl. She was trembling from head to foot, and 
he found a chair for her. 

“There are a few explanations due,” he said coolly, 
“but I rather think they are from you, Mr. Groat.” 

“From me?” Mr. Groat was genuinely unprepared 
for that demand. 

“So far as my presence is concerned, that can be 
explained in a minute,” said Jim. “I was outside the 
house a few moments ago when the door swung open 
and Miss Weldon ran out in a state of abject terror. 
Perhaps you will tell me, Mr. Groat, why this lady is 
reduced to such a condition?” 

There was a cold menace in his tone which Digby 
Groat did not like to hear. 

“I have not the slightest idea what it is all about,” 
he said. “I have been working in my laboratory for 
the last half-hour, and the first intimation I had that 
anything was wrong was when I heard the door open.” 

The girl had recovered now, and some of the color 
had returned to her face, yet her voice shook as she 
recited the incidents of the night, both men listening 
attentively. 

Jim took particular notice of the man’s attitude, and 


36 


BLUE HAND 


he was satisfied in his mind that Digby Groat was as 
much in ignorance of the visit to the girl’s room as he 
himself. When she had finished, Groat nodded. 

“The terrifying cry you heard from my laboratory,” 
he smiled, “is easily explained. Nobody was being 
hurt, at least if he was being hurt, it was for his own 
good. When I came back to my house to-night I 
found my little dog had a piece of glass in its paw, and 
I was extracting it.” 

She drew a sigh of relief. 

“I’m so sorry I made such a fuss,” she said peni¬ 
tently, “but I—I was frightened.” 

“You are sure somebody was in your room?” asked 
Digby. 

“Absolutely certain.” She had not told him about 
the card. 

“They came through the French window from the 
balcony?” 

She nodded. 

“May I see your room?” 

She hesitated for a moment. 

“I will go in first to tidy it,” she said. She remem¬ 
bered the card was on the bed, and she was particularly 
anxious that it should not be read. 

Uninvited Jim Steele followed Digby upstairs into 
the beautiful room. The magnificence of the room, 
its hangings and costly furniture, did not fail to im¬ 
press him, but the impression he received was not 
favorable to Digby Groat. 

“Yes, the window is ajar. You are sure you 
fastened it?” 

The girl nodded. 

“Yes. I left both fanlights down to get the air,” 


BLUE HAND 37 

she pointed above, “but I fastened these doors. I 
distinctly remember that.” 

“But if this person came in from the balcony,,” said 
Digby, “how did he or she get there?” 

He opened the French door and stepped out into the 
night, walking along the balcony until he came to the 
square space above the porch. There was another 
window here which gave on to the landing at the head 
of the stairs. He tried it—it was fastened. Coming 
back through the girl’s room he discovered that not 
only was the catch in its socket, but the key was 
turned. 

“Strange,” he muttered. 

His first impression had been that it was his mother 
who, with her strange whims, had been searching the 
room for some trumpery trinket which had taken her 
fancy. But the old woman was not sufficiently agile 
to climb a balcony nor had she the courage to make a 
midnight foray. 

“My own impression is that you dreamt it. Miss 
Weldon,” he said with a smile. “And now I advise 
you to go to bed and to sleep. I’m sorry that you’ve 
had this unfortunate introduction to my house.” 

He had made no reference to the providential 
appearance of Jim Steele, nor did he speak of this until 
they had said good-night to the girl and had passed 
down the stairs into the hall again. 

“Rather a coincidence, your being here, Mr. Steele,” 
he said. “What were you doing? Studying dactyl¬ 
ology?” 

“Something like that,” said Jim coolly. 

Mr. Digby Groat searched for a cigarette in his 
pocket and lit it* 


38 


BLUE HAND 


“I should have thought that your work was so 
arduous that you would not have time for early morn¬ 
ing strolls in Grosvenor Square.” 

‘Would you really?” said Jim, and then suddenly 
Digby laughed. 

“You’re a queer devil,” he said. “Come along and 
see my laboratory.” 

Jim was anxious to see the laboratory and the invita¬ 
tion saved him from the necessity of making fur¬ 
ther reference to the terrifying cry which Eunice had 
heard. 

They turned down a long passage through the padded 
door and came to a large annexe, the walls of which 
were of white glazed brick. There was no window, the 
light in the daytime being admitted through a glass 
roof. Now, however, these were covered by blue 
blinds and the room owed its illumination to two power¬ 
ful lights which hung above a small table. It was not 
an ordinary table, its legs were of thin iron, termi¬ 
nating in rubber-tired casters. The top was of white 
enameled iron, with curious little screw holds oc¬ 
curring at intervals. 

It was not the table so much as the occupant which 
interested Jim. Fastened down by two iron bands, 
one of which was about its neck and one about the 
lower portion of its body, its four paws fastened by 
thin cords, was a dog, a rough-haired terrier who turned 
its eyes upon Jim with an expression of pleading so 
human that Jim could almost feel the message that 
the poor little thing was sending. 

“Your dog, eh?” said Jim. 

Digby looked at him. 

“Yes,” he said, “why?” 


BLUE HAND 39 

^‘Haven^t you finished taking the glass out of his 
paw?” 

“Not quite,” said the other coolly. 

“By-the-way, you don’t keep him very clean,” Jim 
said. 

Digby turned. 

“What the devil are you hinting at?” he asked. 

“I am merely suggesting that this is not your dog, 
but a poor stray terrier which you picked up in the 
street half-an-hour ago and enticed into this house.” 

“Well?” 

“I’ll save you further trouble by saying that I saw 
you pick it up.” 

Digby’s eyes narrowed. 

“Oh, you did, did you?” he said softly. “So you 
were spying on me?” 

“Not exactly spying on you,” said Jim calmly, “but 
merely satisfying my idle curiosity.” 

His hand fell on the dog and he stroked its ears 
gently. 

Digby laughed. 

“Well, if you know that, I might as well tell you 
that I am going to evacuate the sensory nerve. I’ve 
always been curious to-” 

Jim looked around. 

“Where is your anaesthetic?” he asked gently, and 
he was most dangerous when his voice sank to that soft 
note. 

“Anaesthetic? Good lord,” scoffed the other, “you 
don’t suppose I’m going to waste money on chloroform 
for a dog, do you?” 

His fingers rested near the poor brute’s head and 
the dog, straining forward, licked the torturer’s hand. 



40 


BLUE HAND 


“Filthy little beast!” said Digby picking up a towel. 

He took a thick rubber band, slipped it over the 
dog’s mouth and nose. 

“Now lick,” he laughed, “I think that will stop his 
yelping. You’re a bit chicken-hearted, aren’t you, Mr. 
Steele? You don’t realize that medical science ad¬ 
vances by its experiments on animals.” 

“I realize the value of vivisection under certain condi¬ 
tions,” said Jim quietly, “but all decent doctors who 
experiment on animals relieve them of their pain before 
they use the knife; and all doctors, whether they are 
decent or otherwise, receive a certificate of permission 
from the Board of Trade before they begin their ex¬ 
periments. Where is your certificate?” 

Digby’s face darkened. 

“Look here, don’t you come here trying to bully 
me,” he blustered. “I brought you here just to show 
you my laboratory-” 

“And if you hadn’t brought me in,” interrupted Jim, 
“I should jolly well have walked in, because I wasn’t 
satisfied with your explanation. Oh, yes, I know, 
you’re going to tell me that the dog was only frightened 
and the yell she heard was when you put that infernal 
clamp on his neck. Now, I’ll tell you something, Mr. 
Digby Groat, I’ll give you three minutes to get the 
clamp off that dog.” 

Digby’s yellow face was puckered with rage. 

“And if I don’t?” he breathed. 

“I’ll put you where the dog is,” said Jim. “And 
please don’t persuade yourself that I couldn’t do it!” 

There was a moment’s silence. 

“Take the clamps off that dog,” said Jim. 

Digby looked at him. 



BLUE HAND 


41 


For a moment they gazed at one another and there 
was a look of malignity in the eyes that dropped before 
Jim's. Another minute and the dog was free. 

Jim lifted the shivering little animal in his arms and 
rubbed its bony head, and Digby watched him glower¬ 
ing, his teeth showing in his rage. 

'Til remember this,” he snarled. “By God, you 
shall rue the day you ever interfered with me!” 

Jim's steady eyes met the man's. 

“I have never feared a threat in my life,” he said 
quietly. “I'm not likely to be scared now. I admit 
that vivisection is necessary under proper conditions, 
but men like you who torture harmless animals from 
a sheer lust of cruelty, are bringing discredit upon the 
noblest of professions. You hurt in order to satisfy 
your own curiosity. You have not the slightest inten¬ 
tion of using the knowledge you gain for the benefit 
of suffering humanity. When I came into this labora¬ 
tory,” he said—^he was standing at the door as he 
spoke—“there were two brutes here. I am leaving the 
bigger one behind.” 

He slammed the padded door and walked out into 
the passage, leaving a man whose vanity was hurt 
beyond forgiveness. 

Then to his surprise Groat heard Jim's footsteps 
returning and his visitor came in. 

“Did you close your front door when you went 
upstairs?” 

Digby's eyebrows rose. He forgot for the moment 
the insult that had been offered him. 

“Yes—why?” 

“It is wide open now,” said Jim. “I guess your 
midnight visitor has gone home.” 


« 


CHAPTER SIX 


I N the cheerful sunlight of the morning all Eunice’s 
fear had vanished and she felt heartily ashamed of 
herself that she had made such a commotion in the 
night. And yet there was the card. She took it from 
under her pillow and read it again, with a puzzled 
frown. Somebody had been in the room, but it was 
not a somebody whom she could regard as an enemy. 
Then a thought struck her that made her heart leap. 
Could it have been Jim? She shook her head. Some¬ 
how she was certain it was not Jim, and she flushed 
at the thought. It was not his hand she had touched. 
She knew the shape and contour of that. It was warm 
and firm, almost electric; that which she had touched 
had been the hand of somebody who was old, of that 
she was sure. 

She went down to breakfast to find Groat standing 
before the fire, a debonair perfectly-dressed man, who 
showed no trace of fatigue, though he had not gone to 
bed until four o’clock. 

He gave her a cheery greeting. 

‘‘Good morning. Miss Weldon,” he said, “I hope 
you have recovered from your nightmare.” 

“I gave you a lot of trouble,” she said with a rueful 
smile, “I am so very sorry.” 

“Nonsense,” he said heartily. “I am only glad that 
our friend Steele was there to appease you. By-the- 
way. Miss Weldon, I owe you an apology. I told you 
a lie last night.” 

She looked at him open-eyed. 

42 


BLUE HAND 43 

“Did you, Mr. Groat,’’ she said, and then with a 
laugh, “I am sure it wasn’t a very serious one.” 

“It was really. I told you that my little dog had a 
piece of glass in his paw; the truth was that it wasn’t 
my dog at all, but a dog that I picked up in the street. 
I intended making an experiment upon him. You 
know I am a doctor.” 

She shivered. 

“Oh, that was the noise?” she asked with a wry little 
face. 

He shook his head. 

“No, he was just scared, he hadn’t been hurt at all— 
and in truth I didn’t intend hurting him. Your friend, 
however, persuaded me to let the little beggar go.” 

She drew a long sigh of relief. 

“I’m so glad,” she said. “I should have felt awful.” 

He laughed softly as he took his place at the table. 

“Steele thought I was going to experiment without 
chloroform, but that, of course, was absurd. It is dif¬ 
ficult to get the unprofessional man to realize what 
an enormous help to medical science these experiments 
are. Of course,” he said airily, “they are conducted 
without the slightest pain to the animal. I should no 
more think of hurting a little dog than I should think 
of hurting you.” 

“I’m sure you wouldn’t,” she said warmly. 

Digby Groat was a clever man. He knew that Jim 
would meet the girl again and would give her his ver¬ 
sion of the scene in the laboratory. It was necessary, 
therefore, that he should get his story in first, for this 
girl whom he had brought to the house for his amuse¬ 
ment, was more lovely than he had dreamt and he de¬ 
sired to stand well with her. 


44 


BLUE HAND 


Digby, who was a connoisseur in female beauty, had 
rather dreaded the morning meal. The beauty of 
women seldom survives the cruel searchlight which the 
gray eastern light throws upon their charms. Love 
had never touched him, though many women had come 
and gone in his life. Eunice Weldon was a more 
thrilling adventure, something that would surely 
brighten a dreary week or two; an interest to stimu¬ 
late him until another stimulation came into sight. 

She survived the ordeal magnificently, he thought. 
The tender texture of the skin, untouched by an arti¬ 
ficial agent, was flawless, the eyes bright and vigorous 
with life, sparkled with health; the hands that lay 
upon the table, when she was listening to him, were 
perfectly and beautifully molded. 

She on her side was neither attracted nor repelled. 
Digby Groat was just a man. One of the thousands of 
men who pass and repass in the corridor of life; some 
seen, some unnoticed, some interesting, some abhor¬ 
rent. Some stop to speak, some pass hurriedly by and 
disappear through strange doors never to be seen again. 
He had ‘‘stopped to speak” but had he vanished from 
sight through one of those doors of mystery she would 
neither have been sorry or glad. 

“My mother never comes to breakfast,” said Digby 
half-way through the meal. “Do you think you will 
like your work?” 

“I don’t know what it is, yet,” she answered, her 
eyes twinkling. 

“Mother is rather peculiar,” he said, “and just a 
little eccentric, but I think you will be sensible enough 
to get on with her. And the work will not be very 


BLUE HAND 


45 


heavy at first. I am hoping later that you will be 
able to assist me in my anthropological classification.” 

^‘That sounds terribly important,” she said. “What 
does it mean?” 

“I am making a study of faces and heads,” he said 
easily, “and to that end I have collected thousands of 
photographs from all parts of the world. I hope to 
get a million. It is a science which is very much 
neglected in this country. It appears to be the exclu¬ 
sive monopoly of the Italians. You have probably 
heard of Mantaganza and Lombroso?” 

She nodded. 

“They are the great criminal scientists, aren’t they?” 
she said to his surprise. 

“Oh, I see, you know something about it. Yes, I 
suppose you would call them criminal scientists.” 

“It sounds fascinating,” she said looking at him in 
wonder, “and I should like to help you if your mother 
can spare me.” 

“Oh, she’ll spare you,” he said. 

Her hand lay on the table invitingly near to his, 
but he did not move. He was a quick, accurate judge 
of human nature. He knew that to touch her would be 
the falsest of moves. If it had been another woman— 
yes, his hand would have closed gently over hers, 
there would have been a giggle of embarrassment, a 
dropping of eyes, and the rest would have been so easy. 
But if he had followed that course with her, he knew 
that evening would find her gone. He could wait, 
and she was worth waiting for. She was gloriously 
lovely he thought. Half the pleasure of life lies in the 
chase, and the chase is no more than a violent form of 


46 


BLUE HAND 


anticipation. Some men find their greatest joy in vi¬ 
sions that must sooner or later materialize, and Digby 
Groat was one of these. 

She looked up and saw his burning eyes fixed on her 
and flushed. With an effort she looked again and he 
was a normal man. 

Was it an illusion of hers, she wondered? 


CHAPTER SEVEN 


HE first few days of her engagement were very 
trying to Eunice Weldon. 



JL Mrs. Groat did not overwork her, indeed 
Eunice’s complaint was that the old woman refused to 
give her any work at all. 

On the third day at breakfast she spoke on the 
matter to Digby Groat. 

“I’m afraid I am not very much use here, Mr. 
Groat,” she said, “it is a sin to take your money.” 

“Why?” he asked quickly. 

“Your mother prefers to write her own letters,” she 
said, “and really those don’t seem to be very many!” 

“Nonsense,” he said sharply and seeing that he had 
startled the girl he went on in a much gentler tone: 
“you see, my mother is not used to service of any kind. 
She’s one of those women who prefer to do things for 
themselves, and she has simply worn herself to a 
shadow because of this independence of hers. There 
are hundreds of jobs that she could give you to do! 
You must make allowance for old women. Miss Wel¬ 
don. They take a long time to work up confidence in 
strangers.” 

“I realize that,” she nodded. 

“Poor mother is rather bewildered by her own mag¬ 
nificence,” he smiled, “but I am sure when she gets 
to know you you will find your days very fully oc¬ 
cupied.” 

He left the morning room and went straight into his 


47 


48 


BLUE HAND 


mother’s little parlor, and found her in her dressing- 
room crouching over a tiny fire. He closed the door 
carefully and walked across to her and she looked up 
with a little look of fear in her eyes. 

“Why aren’t you giving this girl work to do?” he 
asked sharply. 

“There’s nothing for her to do,” she wailed. “My 
dear, she is such an expense, and I don’t like her.” 

“You’ll give her work to do from to-day,” he said, 
“and don’t let me tell you again!” 

“She’ll only spy on me,” said Mrs. Groat fretfully, 
“and I never write letters, you know that. T haven’t 
written a letter for years until you made me write that 
note to the lawyer.” 

“You’ll find work for her to do,” repeated Digby 
Groat. “Do you understand? Get all the accounts 
that we’ve had for the past two years, and let her sort 
them out and make a list of them. Give her your bank 
account. Let her compare the checks with the 
counterfoils. Give her anything. Damn you! You 
don’t want me to tell you every day, do you?” 

“I’ll do it. I’ll do it, Digby,” she said hurriedly. 
“You’re very hard on me, my boy. I hate this house,” 
she said with sudden vehemence. “I hate the people 
in it. I looked into her room this morning and it is 
like a palace. It must have cost us thousands of 
pounds to furnish that room, and all for a work girl— 
it is sinful!” 

“Never mind about that,” he said. “Find some¬ 
thing to occupy her time for the next fortnight.” 

The girl was surprised that morning when Mrs. 
Groat sent for her. 


BLUE HAND 49 

‘‘IVe one or two little tasks for you, Miss- I 

never remember your name.’’ 

“Eunice,” said the girl smiling. 

“I don’t like the name of Eunice,” grumbled the 
old woman. “The last one was Lola! A foreign girl. 
I was glad when she left. Haven’t you got another 
name?” 

“Weldon is my other name,” said the girl good- 
htimoredly, “and you can call me ‘Weldon’ or ‘Eunice’ 
or anything you like, Mrs. Groat.” 

The old woman sniffed. 

She had in front of her a big drawer packed with 
checks which had come back from the bank. 

“Go through these,” she said, “and do something 
with them. I don’t know what.” 

“Perhaps you want me to fasten them to the counter¬ 
foils,” said the girl. 

“Yes, yes, that’s it,” said Mrs. Groat. “You don’t 
want to do it here, do you? Yes, you’d better do it 
here,” she went on hastily, “I don’t want the servants 
prying into my accounts.” 

Eunice put the drawer on the table, gathered to¬ 
gether the stubs of the check books, and with a little 
bottle of gum began her work, the old woman watching 
her. 

When, for greater comfort, the girl took off the gold 
wrist watch which she wore, a present from her dead 
father, Mrs. Groat’s greedy eyes focussed upon it and 
a look of animation came into the dull face. 

It looked like a long job, but Eunice was a me¬ 
thodical worker, and when the gong in the hall sounded 
for lunch, she had finished her labors. 


50 


BLUE HAND 


“There, Mrs. Groat,” she said with a smile, “I think 
that is the lot. All your checks are here.” 

She put away the drawer and looked round for her 
watch, but it had disappeared. It was at that moment 
that Digby Groat opened the door and walked in. 

“Hullo, Miss Weldon,” he said with his engaging 
smile, “IVe come back for lunch. Did you hear the 
gong, mother? You ought to have let Miss Weldon 
go.” 

But the girl was looking round. 

“Have you lost anything?” asked Digby quickly. 

“My little watch. I put it down a few minutes 
ago, and it seems to have vanished,” she said. 

“Perhaps it is in the drawer,” stammered the old 
woman avoiding her son’s eye. 

Digby looked at her for a moment then turned to 
Eunice. 

“Will you please ask Jackson to order my car for 
three o’clock?” he asked gently. 

He waited until the door closed behind the girl and 
then: 

“Where is that watch?” he asked. 

“The watch, Digby?” quavered the old woman. 

“The watch, curse you! ” he said, his face black with 
rage. 

She put her hand into her pocket reluctantly and pro¬ 
duced it. 

“It was so pretty,” she sniveled, and he snatched 
it from her hand. 

A minute later Eunice returned. 

“We have found your watch,” he said with a smile. 
“You had dropped it under the table.” 


BLUE HAND 51 

“I thought I^d looked there/’ she said. “It is not 
a valuable watch, but it serves a double purpose.” 

She was preparing to put it on. 

“What other purpose than to tell you the time?” 
asked Digby. 

“It hides a very ugly scar,” she said, and extended 
her wrist. “Look.” She pointed to a round red 
mark, the size of a sixpence. It looked like a recent 
burn. 

“That’s queer,” said Digby looking, and then he 
heard a strangled sound from his mother. Her face 
was twisted and distorted, her eyes were glaring at the 
girl’s wrist. 

“Digby, Digby!” her voice was a thin shriek of 
sound. “Oh, my God!” 

And she fell across the table and before he could 
reach her, had dropped to the floor in an inert heap. 

Digby stooped over his mother and then turned his 
head slowly to the frightened girl. 

“It was the scar on your hand that did it,” he said 
slowly, “what does it mean?” 


CHAPTER EIGHT 


HE story of the scar and the queer effect it 



had produced on Mrs. Groat puzzled Jim al- 


1 most as much as it had worried the girl. He 
offered his wild theory again and she laughed. 

“Of course I shall leave,” she said, “but I must stay 
until all Mrs. Groat’s affairs are cleared up. There 
are heaps of letters and documents of all kinds which 
I have to index,” she said; “at least Mr. Groat told me 
there were. And it seems so unfair to run away whilst 
the poor old lady is so ill. As to my being the young 
lady of fortune, that is absurd. My parents were 
South Africans. Jim, you are too romantic to be a 
good detective.” 

He indulged in the luxury of a taxi to carry her back 
to Grosvenor Square and this time went with her to 
the house, taking his leave at the door. 

Whilst they were talking on the step, the door 
opened and a man was shown out by Jackson. He was 
a short, thick-set man with an enormous brown beard. 

Apparently Jackson did not see the two people on 
the step, at any rate he did not look toward them, but 
said in a loud voice: 

“Mr. Groat will not be home until seven o’clock, Mr. 
Villa.” 

“Tell him I called,” said the bearded man with a 
booming voice, and stepped past Jim, apparently oblivi¬ 
ous to his existence. 

“Who is the gentleman with the whiskers?” asked 
Jim, but the girl could give him no information. 


BLUE HAND 


53 


Jim was not satisfied with the girl’s explanation of 
her parentage. There was an old school friend of his 
in business in Cape Town, as an architect, and on his 
return to his office, Jim sent him a long reply-paid 
cablegram. He felt that he was chasing shadows, but 
at present there was little else to chase, and he went 
home to his flat a little oppressed by the hopelessness 
of his task. 

The next day he had a message from the girl saying 
that she could not come out that afternoon, and the 
day was a blank, the more so because that afternoon 
he received a reply to his cable. The reply destroyed 
any romantic dreams he might have had as to Eunice 
Weldon’s association with the Danton millions. The 
message was explicit. Eunice May Weldon had been 
born at Rondebosch, on the 12 th June, 1899; her par¬ 
ents were Henry William Weldon, musician, and Mar¬ 
garet May Weldon. She had been christened at the 
Wesleyan Chapel at Rondebosch, and both her parents 
were dead. 

The final two lines of the cable puzzled him: 

^‘Similar enquiries made about parentage Eunice Weldon 
six months ago by Selenger and Co., Brade Street Buildings.’’ 

“Selenger and Co.,” said Jim thoughtfully. Here 
was a new mystery. Who else was making enquiries 
about the girl? He opened a Telephone Directory and 
looked up the name. There were several Selengers, 
but none of Brade Street Buildings. He put on his hat, 
and hailing a taxi, drove to Brade Street, which was 
near the Bank, and with some difficulty found Brade 
Street Buildings. It was a moderately large block of 
offices, and on the indicator at the door, he discovered 


54 BLUE HAND 

Selenger & Co. occupied No. 6 room on the ground 
floor. 

The office was locked and apparently unoccupied. 
He sought the hall-keeper. 

‘‘No, sir,” said the man shaking his head. “Selen¬ 
ger s aren’t open. As a matter of fact, nobody’s ever 
there except at night.” 

“At night,” said Jim, “that’s an extraordinary time 
to do business.” 

The hall-keeper looked at him unfavorably. 

“I suppose it is the way they do tkeir business, sir,” 

It was some time before Jim could appease the ruf¬ 
fled guardian, and then he learnt that Selengers were 
evidently privileged tenants. A complaint from Sel¬ 
engers had brought the dismissal of his predecessor, and 
the curiosity of a housekeeper as to what Selengers did 
so late at night had resulted in that lady being sum¬ 
marily discharged. 

“I think they deal with foreign stock,” said the por¬ 
ter. “A lot of cables come here, but I’ve never seen 
the gentleman who runs the office. He comes in by the 
side door.” 

Apparently there was another entrance to Selengers’ 
office, an entrance reached by a small courtyard open¬ 
ing from a side passage. Selengers were the only ten¬ 
ants who had this double means of egress and exit, 
and also, it seemed, they were the only tenants of the 
building who were allowed to work all night. 

“Even the stockbrokers on the second floor have to 
shut down at eight o’clock,” explained the porter, 
“and that’s pretty hard on them, because when the 
market is booming, there’s work that would keep them 
going until twelve o’clock. But at eight o’clock, it is 


BLUE HAND 


55 


‘out you go^ with the company that owns this building. 
The rents aren’t high and there are very few offices 
to be had in the city nowadays. They have always 
been very strict, even in Mr. Danton’s time.” 

“Mr. Danton’s time,” said Jim quickly. “Did he 
own this building? Do you mean Danton, the ship¬ 
owner millionaire?” 

The man nodded. 

“Yes, sir,” he said, rather pleased with himself that 
he had created a sensation. “He sold it, or got rid 
of it in some way years ago. I happen to know, be¬ 
cause I used to be an office-boy in these very buildings, 
and I remember Mr. Danton—he had an office on the 
first floor, and a wonderful office it was, too.” 

“Who occupies it now?” 

“A foreign gentleman named Levenski. He’s a fel¬ 
low who’s never here, either.” 

Jim thought the information so valuable that he 
went to the length of calling up Mr. Salter at his home. 
But Mr. Salter knew nothing whatever about the Brade 
Street Buildings except that it had been a private spec¬ 
ulation of Danton’s. It had come into his hands as 
the result of the liquidation of the original company 
and he had disposed of the property without consulta¬ 
tion with Salter and Salter. 

It was another blank wall. 


CHAPTER NINE 


< ^ T SHALL not be in the office to-day, sir. I have 
I several appointments which may keep me occu- 

A pied,’’ said Jim Steele, and Mr. Salter sniffed. 

^‘Business, Steele?” he asked politely. 

‘^Not all of them, sir,’^ said Jim. He had a shrewd 
idea that Mr. Salter guessed what that business was. 

‘‘Very good,” said Salter, putting on his glasses 
and addressing himself to the work on his desk. 

“There is one thing I want to ask, and that is partly 
why I came, because I could have explained my ab¬ 
sence by telephone.” 

Mr. Salter put down his pen patiently. 

“I cannot understand why this fellow Groat has so 
many Spanish friends,” said Jim. “For example, there 
is a girl he sees a great deal, the Comtessa Manzana; 
you have heard of her, sir?” 

“I see her name in the papers occasionally,” said Mr. 
Salter. 

“And there are several Spaniards he knows. One in 
particular named Villa. Groat speaks Spanish flu¬ 
ently, too.” 

“That is curious,” said Mr. Salter leaning back in 
his chair. “His grandfather had a very large number 
of Spanish friends. I think that somewhere in the 
background there may have been some Spanish family 
connection. Old man Danton, that is, Jonathan Dan- 
ton’s father, made most of his money in Spain and in 
56 


BLUE HAND 


57 


Central America, and was always entertaining a house¬ 
ful of grandees. They were a strange family, the Dan- 
tons. They lived in little water-tight compartments, 
and I believe on the day of his death Jonathan Danton 
hadn’t spoken more than a dozen words to his sister 
for twenty years. They weren’t bad friends, if you 
understand. It was just the way of the Dantons. 
There are other families whom I know who do exactly 
the same thing. A reticent family, with a keen sense 
of honor.” 

^^Didn’t Grandfather Danton leave Mrs. Groat any 
money? She was one of his two children, wasn’t 
she?” 

Septimus Salter nodded. 

“He never left her a penny,” he said. “She prac¬ 
tically lived on the charity of her brother. I never 
understood why, but the old man took a sudden dislike 
to her. Jonathan was as much in the dark as I am. 
He used to discuss it with me and wondered what his 
sister had done to incur the old man’s enmity. His 
father never told him—would never even discuss the 
sister with him. It was partly due to the old man’s 
niggardly treatment of Mrs. Groat, that Jonathan Dan¬ 
ton made his will as he did. 

“Probably her marriage with Groat was one of the 
causes of the old man’s anger. Groat was nothing, a 
shipping clerk in Danton’s Liverpool office. A man 
ill at ease in good society, without an ‘h’ to his name, 
and desperately scared of his wife. The only person 
who was ever nice to him was poor Lady Mary. His 
wife hated him for some reason or other. Curiously 
enough when he died, too, he left all his money to a 
distant cousin—and he left about £5,000. Where he 


58 


BLUE HAND 


got it from heaven knows. And now be off, Steele. 
The moment you come into this office,” said Mr. Salter 
in despair, ‘^you start me on a string of reminiscences 
that are deplorably out of keeping with a lawyer’s 
office.” 

Jim’s first call that morning was at the Home Office. 
He was anxious to clear up the mystery of Madge 
Benson. Neither Scotland Yard nor the Prisons Com¬ 
missioners were willing to supply an unofficial in¬ 
vestigator with the information he had sought, and in 
desperation he had applied to the Secretary of State’s 
Department. Fortunately he had a “friend at court” 
in that building, a middle-aged barrister he had met in 
France and his inquiry, backed by proof that he was 
not merely satisfying his personal curiosity, had 
brought him a note asking him to call. 

Mr. Fenningleigh received him in his room with a 
warmth which showed that he had not forgotten the 
fact that on one occasion Jim had saved him from what 
might have been a serious injury, if not death, for 
Jim had dragged him to cover one night when the 
British headquarters were receiving the unwelcome at¬ 
tentions of ten German bombers. 

“Sit down, Steele. I can’t tell you much,” said the 
official picking up a slip of paper from his blotting-pad, 
“and I’m not sure that I ought to tell you anything! 
But this is the information which ^prisons’ have sup¬ 
plied.” 

Jim took the slip from the barrister’s hand and read 
the three lines. 

“ ‘Madge Benson, age 26 . Domestic Servant. One month 
with H. L. for theft. Sentenced at Marylebone Police Court. 


BLUE HAND 59 

June 5, 1898. Committed to Holloway. Released July 
2, 1898.’» 

“Theft?” said Jim thoughtfully. “I suppose there 
is no way of learning the nature of the theft?” 

Mr. Fenningleigh shook his head. 

“I should advise you to interview the jailer at 
Marylebone. These fellows have extraordinary mem¬ 
ories for faces, and besides there is certain to be a 
record of the conviction at the court. You had better 
ask Salter to apply; they will give permission to a 
lawyer.” 

But this was the very thing Jim did not want to do. 


CHAPTER TEN 


E unice WELDON was rapidly settling down in 
her new surroundings. The illness of her em¬ 
ployer, so far from depriving her of occupa¬ 
tion, gave her more work than she had ever expected. 
It was true, as Digby Groat had said, that there were 
plenty of small jobs to fill up her time. At his sug¬ 
gestion she went over the little account books in which 
Mrs. Groat kept the record of her household expenses, 
and was astounded to find how parsimonious the old 
lady had been. 

One afternoon when she was tidying the old bureau, 
she stopped in her work to admire the solid workman¬ 
ship which the old furniture builders put into their 
handicraft. 

The bureau was one of those old-fashioned affairs, 
which are half-desk and half-bookcase, the writing- 
case being enclosed by glass doors covered on the in¬ 
side with green silk curtains. 

It was the thickness of the two side-pieces enclos¬ 
ing the actual desk, which unlike the writing-flap of 
the ordinary secretaire was immovable, that arrested 
her attention. She was rubbing her hand admiringly 
along the polished mahogany surface, when she felt a 
strip of wood give way under the pressure of her finger¬ 
tips. To her surprise a little flap about an inch wide 
and about six inches long had fallen down and hung on 
its invisible hinges leaving a black cavity. A secret 
drawer in a secretaire is not an extraordinary discov- 
6o 


BLUE HAND 


61 


ery, but she wondered whether she ought to explore the 
recess which her accidental touch had revealed. She 
put in her fingers and drew out a folded paper. There 
was nothing else in the drawer, if drawer it could be 
called. 

Ought she to read it, she wondered? If it had been 
so carefully put away, Mrs. Groat would not wish it 
to be seen by a third person. Nevertheless it was her 
duty to discover what the document was and she 
opened it. 

To the top a piece of paper was attached on which a 
few words were written in Mrs. Groat’s hand: 

“This is the will referred to in the instructions contained 
in the sealed envelope which Mr. Salter has in his possession.” 

The word ‘^Salter” had been struck out and the name 
of the firm of solicitors which had supplanted the old 
man had been substituted. 

The will was executed on one of those forms which 
can be purchased at any law stationers. But apart 
from the preamble it was short: 

“I give to my son, Digby Francis Groat, the sum of £20,000 
and my house and furniture at 409, Grosvenor Square. The 
remainder of my estate I give to Ramonez, Marquis of 
Estremeda, of Calle Receletos, Madrid.” 

It was witnessed by two names unknown to the 
girl and as they had described themselves as domestic 
servants it was probable that they had long since left 
her employment, for Mrs. Groat did not keep a servant 
very long. 

What should she do with it? She determined to ask 
Digby. 


62 


BLUE HAND 


Later, when going through the drawers of her desk 
she discovered a small miniature and was startled by 
the dark beauty of the subject. It was a head and 
shoulders of a girl wearing her hair in a way which 
was fashionable in the late seventies. The face was 
bold, but beautiful, the dark eyes seemed to glow with 
life. The face of a girl who had her way, thought 
Eunice as she noted the firm round chin. She won¬ 
dered who it was and showed it to Digby Groat at 
lunch. 

‘Dh, that is a picture of my mother,” he said care¬ 
lessly. 

‘‘Your mother?” said Eunice in astonishment, and he 
chuckled. 

“You^d never think she was ever like that, but she 
was, I believe, a very beautiful girl,” his face darkened, 
“just a little too beautiful,” he said, without explaining 
what he meant. 

Suddenly he snatched the miniature from her and 
looked on the back. 

“I^m sorry,” he apologized, and a sudden pallor had 
come to his face. “Mother sometimes writes things 

on the back of pictures and I was rather-” he was 

going to say “scared”—“and I was rather embar¬ 
rassed.” 

He was almost incoherent, an unusual circumstance, 
for Digby Groat was the most self-possessed of men. 

He changed the subject by introducing an inquiry 
which he had meant to make some time before. 

“Miss Weldon, can you explain that scar on your 
wrist?” he asked. 

She shook her head laughingly. 



BLUE HAND 63 

“I’m almost sorry I showed it to you,” she said. 
“It is ugly, isn’t it?” 

“Do you know how it happened?” 

“I don’t know,” she said, “mother never told me. 
It looks rather like a burn.” 

He examined the little red place attentively. 

“Of course,” she went on, “it is absurd to think 
that the sight of my birth mark was the cause of your 
mother’s stroke.” 

“I suppose it is,” he nodded, “but it was a remark¬ 
able coincidence.” 

He had endeavored to find from the old woman the 
reason of her sudden collapse, but without success. 
For three days she had lain in her bed speechless and 
motionless and apparently had neither heard nor seen 
him when he had made his brief visits to the sick 
room. 

She was recovering now, however, and he intended, 
at the first opportunity, to demand a full explanation. 

“Did you find anything else?” he asked suspiciously. 
He was never quite sure what new folly his mother 
might commit. Her passion for other people’s prop¬ 
erty might have come to light. 

Should she tell him? He saw the doubt and trouble 
in her face and repeated his question. 

“I found your mother’s will,” she said. 

He had finished his lunch, had pushed back his 
chair and was smoking peacefully. The cigar dropped 
from his hand and she saw his face go black. 

“Her will!” he said. “Are you sure? Her will is 
at the lawyer’s. It was made two years ago.” 

“This will was made a few months ago,” said Eunice 


64 BLUE HAND 

troubled. “I do hope I haven’t betrayed any secret 
of hers.” 

“Let me see this precious document,” said Digby 
starting up. 

His voice was brusque, almost to rudeness. She 
wondered what had brought about his sudden change. 
They walked back to the old woman’s shabby room and 
the girl produced a document from the drawer. 

He read it through carefully. 

“The old fool,” he muttered. “The cussed, drivel¬ 
ing old fool! Have you read this?” he asked sharply. 

“I read a little of it,” admitted the girl, shocked by 
the man’s brutal reference to his mother. 

He examined the paper again and all the time he 
was muttering something under his breath. 

“Where did you find this?” he asked harshly. 

“I found it by accident,” explained Eunice. “There 
is a little drawer here,” she pointed to the seemingly 
solid side of the bureau in which gaped an oblong 
cavity. 

“I see,” said Digby Groat slowly as he folded the 
paper. “Now, Miss Weldon, perhaps you will tell me 
how much of this document you have read,” he tapped 
the will on his palm. 

She did not know exactly what to say. She was 
Mrs. Groat’s servant and she felt it was disloyal even 
to discuss her private affairs with Digby. 

“I read beyond the legacy,” she admitted, “I did not 
read it carefully.” 

“And you saw that my mother had left me 
£20,000?” said Digby Groat, “and the remainder to— 
somebody else?” 

She nodded. 


BLUE HAND 


65 


“Do you know who that somebody else was?” 

“Yes,” she said. “To the Marquis of Estremeda.” 

His face had changed from sallow to red, from red 
to a dirty gray and his voice as he spoke shook with the 
rage he could not altogether suppress. 

“Do you know how much money my mother will be 
worth?” he asked. 

“No, Mr. Groat,” said the girl quietly, “and I don’t 
think you ought to tell me. It is none of my busi¬ 
ness.” 

“She will be worth a million and a quarter,” he said 
between his teeth, “and she’s left me £20,000 and this 
damned house!” 

He swung round and was making for the door and 
the girl who guessed his intentions went after him and 
caught his arm. 

“Mr. Groat,” she said seriously. “You must not go 
to your mother. You really must not! ” 

Her intervention sobered him and he walked slowly 
back to the fireplace, took a match from his pocket, 
lit it and before the astonished eyes of the girl applied 
it to one corner of the document. He watched it until 
it was black ash and then put his foot upon the debris. 

“So much for that!” he said and turning caught 
the amazed look in the face of Eunice. “You think 
I’ve behaved disgracefully, I suppose,” he smiled, his 
old debonair self. “The truth is I am saving my 
mother’s memory from the imputation of madness. 
There is no Marquis of Estremeda, as far as I know. 
It is one of the illusions which my mother has, that a 
Spanish nobleman once befriended her. That is the 
dark secret of our family. Miss Weldon,” he laughed, 
but she knew that he was lying. 


CHAPTER ELEVEN 


T he door of Digby Groat^s study was ajar, and 
he caught a glimpse of Eunice as she came 
in and made her way up to her room. She 
had occupied a considerable amount of his thoughts 
that afternoon, and he had cursed himself that he had 
been betrayed into revealing the ugly side of his nature 
before one whom he wished to impress. But there was 
another matter troubling him. In his folly he had 
destroyed a legal document in the presence of a witness 
and had put himself into her power. Suppose his 
mother died, he thought, and the question of a will 
arose? Suppose Estremeda got hold of her, her testi¬ 
mony in the courts of law might destroy the value of 
his mother’s earlier will and bring him into the dock at 
the Old Bailey. 

It was an axiom of his that great criminals are de¬ 
stroyed by small causes. The spendthrift who dissi¬ 
pates hundreds of thousands of pounds, finds himself 
made bankrupt by a paltry hundred pounds, and the 
clever organizer of the Thirteen who had covered his 
traces so perfectly that the shrewdest police in the 
world had not been able to associate him with their 
many crimes, might easily be brought to book through 
a piece of stupidity which was dictated by rage and 
offended vanity. He was now more than ever deter¬ 
mined that Eunice Weldon should come within his 
influence, so that her power for mischief should be 
66 


BLUE HAND 67 

broken before she knew how crushingly it might be 
employed. 

It was not an unpleasant task he set himself, ^r 
Eunice exercised a growing fascination over him. 
Her beauty and her singular intelligence were sufficient 
lures, but to a man of his temperament the knowledge 
that she added to these gifts a purity of mf^nd and 
soul gave her an added value. That she was in the 
habit of meeting the man he hated, he knew. His 
faithful Jackson had trailed the girl twice, and on each 
occasion had returned with the same report. Eunice 
Weldon was meeting Steele in the park. And the 
possibility that Jim loved her was the greatest incen¬ 
tive of all to his vile plan. 

He could strike at Jim through the girl, could befoul 
the soul that Jim Steele loved best in the world. That 
would be a noble revenge, he thought, as he sat, pen 
in hand, and heard her light footsteps pass up the 
stairs. But he must be patient and the game must be 
played cautiously. He must gain her confidence. 
That was essential, and the best way of securing this 
end was to make no reference to these meetings, to 
give her the fullest opportunity for seeing Jim Steele 
and to avoid studiously any suggestion that he himself 
had an interest in her. 

He had not sought an interview with his mother. 
She had been sleeping all the afternoon, the nurse had 
told him and he felt that he could be patient here also. 
At night when he saw the girl at dinner, he made a 
reference to the scene she had witnessed in the old 
woman’s sitting-room. 

‘'You’ll think I’m an awful cad. Miss Weldon,” he 
said frankly, “but mother has a trick of making me 


68 


BLUE HAND 


more angry than any other person I have met. You 
look upon me as a very unfilial son?” he smiled. 

^‘We do things we’re ashamed of sometimes when 
we are angry,” said Eunice, willing to find an excuse 
for the outburst. She would gladly have avoided the 
topic altogether, for her conscience was pricking her 
and she felt guilty when she remembered that she had 
spoken to Jim on the subject. Digby Groat was to 
make her a little more uncomfortable by his next re¬ 
mark. 

“It is unnecessary for me to tell you. Miss Weldon,” 
he said, with his smile, “that all which happens within 
these four walls is confidential. I need not express 
any fear that you will ever speak to an outsider about 
our affairs.” 

He had only to look at the crimson face, at the 
downcast eyes and the girl’s fingers playing nervously 
with the silver, to realize that she had already spoken 
of the will, and again he cursed himself for his untimely 
exhibition of temper. 

He passed on, to the girl’s great relief, to another 
subject. He was having certain alterations made in 
his laboratory and was enthusiastic about a new elec¬ 
trical appliance which he had installed. 

“Would you like to see my little den. Miss Weldon?” 
he asked. 

“I should very much,” said the girl. 

She was, she knew, being despicably insincere. She 
did not want to see the laboratory. To her, since Jim 
had described the poor little dog who had been stretched 
upon the table, it was a place of horror. But she was 
willing to agree to anything that would take Digby 


BLUE HAND 69 

Groat from the topic of the will, and the thought of 
her own breach of faith. 

There was nothing very dreadful in the laboratory 
she discovered. It was so white and clean and neat 
that her womanly instinct for orderliness could admire 
the well-arranged little room, with its shelves packed 
with bottles, its delicate glass retorts and its strange 
and mysterious instruments. 

He did not open the locked doors that hid one cup¬ 
board which stood at one end of the laboratory, so she 
knew nothing of the grisly relics of his investigations. 
She was now glad she had seen the place, but was 
nevertheless as pleased to return to the drawing-room. 

Digby went out at nine o^clock and she was left 
alone to read and to amuse herself as best she could. 
She called at Mrs. Groat’s room on her way up and 
learned from the nurse that the old lady was rapidly 
recovering. 

‘‘She will be quite normal to-morrow or the next 
day,” said the nurse. 

Here was another relief. Mrs. Groat’s illness had 
depressed the girl. It was so terrible to see one who 
had been as beautiful as the miniature proved her to 
have been, struck down and rendered a helpless mass, 
incapable of thought or movement. 

Her room, which had impressed her by its beauty 
the day she had arrived had now been enhanced by the 
deft touches which only a woman’s fingers can give. 
She had read some of the books which Digby Groat 
had selected for her entertainment and some she had 
dipped into only to reject. 

She spent the evening with “The Virginian,” and 


70 


BLUE HAND 


here Digby had introduced her to one of the most 
delightful creatures of fiction. The Virginian was 
rather like Jim she thought—but then all the heroes 
of all the books she read were rather like Jim. 

Searching in her bag for her handkerchief her fingers 
closed on the little card which had been left on her 
table the night of her introduction to the Grosvenor 
Square household. She took it out and read it for 
the twentieth time, puzzling over the identity of the 
sender and the object he had in view. 

What was the meaning of that little blue hand, she 
wondered? And what was the story which lay behind 
it? 

She put down her book and rising, switched on the 
lamp over her writing table, examining the card curi¬ 
ously. She had not altered her first impression that 
the hand had been made by a rubber stamp. It was 
really a beautiful little reproduction of an open palm 
and every line was distinct. Who was her mysterious 
friend—or was he a friend? She shook her head. 

It could not be Jim, and yet- It worried her even 

to think of Jim in this connection. Whoever it was, 
she thought with a little smile, they had been wrong. 
She had not left the house and nothing had happened 
to her, and she felt a sense of pride and comfort in 
the thought that the mysterious messenger could know 
nothing of Jim, her guardian angel. 

She heard a step in the passage and somebody 
knocked at her door. It was Digby Groat. He had 
evidently just come in. 

‘T saw your light,” he said, ‘^so I thought I would 
give you something I have brought back from the 
Ambassadors Club.” 



BLUE HAND 71 

The ‘^something” was a big square box tied with 
lavender ribbon. 

^Tor me?” she said in surprise. 

“They were distributing them to the guests,” 
he said, “and I thought you might have a taste 
for sweeties. They are the best chocolates in Eng¬ 
land.” 

She laughed and thanked him. He made no further 
attempt to continue the conversation, but with a nod, 
went to his room. She heard the door open and close, 
and five mintues later it opened again and his soft 
footsteps faded away. 

He was going to his laboratory, she thought, and 
wondered, with a shiver, what was the experiment he 
was attempting that night. 

She had placed the box on the table and had for¬ 
gotten about it until she was preparing for bed, then 
she untied the pretty ribbons and displayed the con¬ 
tents. 

“They’re delicious,” she murmured, and took one up 
in her fingers- 

Thump! 

She turned quickly and dropped the chocolate from 
her fingers. 

Something had hit against her window, it sounded 
like a fist. She ran to the silken curtains which cov¬ 
ered the glass doors from view and hesitated nervously 
for a moment; then with a little catch of breath she 
thought that possibly some boys had thrown a ball. 

She pulled back the curtains violently and for a mo¬ 
ment saw nothing. The balcony was clear and she 
unfastened the latch and stepped out. There was no¬ 
body in sight. She looked on the floor of the balcony 



72 BLUE HAND 

for the object which had been thrown but could find 
nothing. 

She went slowly back to her room and was closing 
the door when she saw and gasped. For on one of the 
panes was the life-size print of the Blue Handl 
Again that mysterious warning 1 


CHAPTER TWELVE 


E unice gazed at the hand spell-bound, but she 
was now more curious than alarmed. Open¬ 
ing the window again, she felt gingerly at the 
impression. It was wet, and her finger-tip was stained 
a deep greasy blue, which wiped off readily on her 
handkerchief. Again she stepped out on to the bal¬ 
cony, and following it along, came to the door leading 
to the head of the stairs. She tried it. It was locked. 
Leaning over the parapet she surveyed the square. 
She saw a man and a woman walking along and talking 
together and the sound of their laughter came up to 
her. At the corner of the square she saw passing un¬ 
der a street-lamp a helmeted policeman who must, she 
calculated, have been actually in front of the house 
when the imprint was made. 

She was about to withdraw to her room when look¬ 
ing down over the portico she saw the figure of a woman 
descending the steps of the house. Who was she? 
Eunice knew all the servants by now and was certain 
this woman was a stranger. She might, of course, be 
one of Digby Groat^s friends or a friend of the nurse, 
but her subsequent movements were so unusual that 
Eunice was sure that this was the mysterious stranger 
who had left her mark on the window. So it was a 
woman, after all, thought Eunice in amazement, as she 
watched her cross the square to where a big limousine 
was waiting. 


73 


74 


BLUE HAND 


Without giving any instructions to the chauffeur the 
won^an in black stepped into the car, which immedi¬ 
ately moved off. 

Eunice went back to the rooni and sat down in a 
chair to try to straighten her tangled mind. That hand 
was intended as a warning, she was sure of that. And 
now it was clear which way the visitor had come. She 
must have entered the house by the front door and 
have got on to the balcony through the door on the 
landing, locking it after her when she made her escape. 

Looking in the glass, Eunice saw that her face was 
pale but inwardly she felt more thrilled than fright¬ 
ened, and she had also a sense of protection, for in¬ 
stinctively she knew that the woman of the Blue Hand 
was a friend. Should she go downstairs and tell Digby 
Groat? She shook her head at the thought. No, she 
would reserve this little mystery for Jim to unravel. 
With a duster, which she kept in one of the cupboards, 
she wiped the blue impression from the window and 
then sat down on the edge of her bed to puzzle out the 
intricate and baffling problem. 

Why had the wonnan chosen this method of warning 
her? Why not employ the mundane method of send¬ 
ing her a letter? Twice she had taken a risk to im¬ 
press Eunice with the sense of danger, when the same 
warning might have been conveyed to her through the 
agency of the postman. 

Eunice frowned at this thought, but then she began 
to realize that had an anonymous letter arrived, she 
would have torn it up and thrown it into her waste 
paper basket. These midnight visitations were in¬ 
tended to impress upon the girl the urgency of the 
visitor’s fear for her. 


BLUE HAND 


75 


It was not by any means certain that the woman who 
had left the house was the mysterious visitor. Eunice 
had never troubled to inquire into Digby Groat’s char¬ 
acter, nor did she know any of his friends. The lady 
in black might well have been an acquaintance of his 
and to tell Digby of the warning and all that she had 
seen, could easily create a very embarrassing situation 
for all concerned. 

She went to bed, but it was a long time before sleep 
came to her. She dozed and woke and dozed again 
and at last decided to get up. She pulled aside the 
curtains to let in the morning light. The early traffic 
was rumbling through the street and the clear fra¬ 
grance of the unsullied air came coldly as she stood 
and shivered by the open window. She was hungry, 
as hungry as a healthy girl can be in that keen atmos¬ 
phere, and she bethought herself of the box of choco¬ 
lates which Digby had brought to her. She had taken 
one from its paper wrapping and it was between her 
teeth when she remembered with a start that the warn¬ 
ing had come at the very moment she was about to 
eat a chocolate! She put it down again thoughtfully 
and went back to bed to pass the time which must 
elapse before the servants were about and any kind of 
food procurable. 

Jimj Steele was about to leave his little flat in 
Featherdale Mansions that morning, when he was met 
at the dooi< by a district messenger carrying a large 
parcel and a bulky letter. He at once recognized the 
handwriting of Eunice and carried the parcel into his 
study. The letter was written hurriedly and was full 
of apologies. As briefly as possible Eunice had related 
the events of the night. 


76 


BLUE HAND 


“I cannot imagine that the chocolates had anything to do 
with it, but somehow you are communicating your prejudice 
against Digby Groat to me. I have no reason whatever to 
suspect him of any bad design toward me and in sending 
these I am merely doing as you told me, to communicate 
everything unusual. Aren’t I an obedient girl! And, please 
Jim, will you take me out to dinner to-night. It is ‘my 
night out,’ and I’d love to have a leisurely meal with you, 
and I’m simply dying to talk about the Blue Hand! Isn’t it 
gorgeously mysterious! I shall try to catch up some of my 
arrears of sleep this afternoon so that I shall be fresh and 
brilliant.” (She had written “and beautiful” in mockery 
but had scratched it out.) 

Jim Steele whistled. Hitherto he had regarded the 
Blue Hand as a convenient and accidental method 
which the unknown had chosen for his or her signature. 
Now, however, it obtained a new significance. The 
Blue Hand had been chosen deliberately and for some 
reason which must be known to one of the parties con¬ 
cerned. To Digby Groat? Jim shook his head. 
Somehow he knew for certain that the Blue Hand would 
be as much of a mystery to Digby Groat as it was to 
the girl and himself. He had no particular reason for 
thinking this. It was one of those imjmediate instincts 
which carry their own conviction. But who else was 
concerned? He determined to ask his employer that 
morning if the Blue Hand suggested anything to 
him. 

In the meantime there were the chocolates. He ex¬ 
amined the box carefully. The sweetmeats were beau¬ 
tifully arranged and the box bore the label of a well- 
known West End confectioner. He took out three or 


BLUE HAND 77 

four of the chocolates, placed them carefully in an en¬ 
velope and put the envelope in his pocket. 

Then he set forth to the city. As he closed his own 
door his eye went to the door on the opposite side of 
the landing, where dwelt Mrs. Fane and the mysterious 
Madge Benson. The door was ajar and he thought he 
heard the woman’s voice on the ground floor below 
talking to the porter of the flats. 

His foot was extended to descend the first of the 
stairs when from the flat came a sharp scream and a 
voice: ‘‘Madge, Madge, help!” 

Without a second’s hesitation he pushed open the 
door and ran down the passage. There were closed 
doors on either side, but the last on the right was open 
and a thin cloud of smoke was pouring forth. He 
rushed in, just as the woman, who was lying on the 
bed, was rising on her elbow as though she were about 
to get up, and tearing down the blazing curtains at 
one of the windows, stamped out the fire. It was all 
over in a few seconds and he had extinguished the last 
spark of fire from the blackened lace before he looked 
round at the occupant of the bed, who was staring at 
him wide-eyed. 

She was a woman of between forty and forty-five 
he judged, with a face whose delicate molding instantly 
impressed him. He thought he had seen her before, 
but knew that he must have been mistaken. The big 
eyes, gray and luminous, the dark brown hair in which 
a streak of gray had appeared, the beautiful hands 
that lay on the coverlet, all of these he took in at one 
glance. 

“I’m very greatly obliged to you, Mr. Steele,” said 


78 


BLUE HAND 


the lady in a voice that was little above a whisper. 
‘That is the second accident w^e have had. A spark 
from one of the engines must have blown in through 
the open window.” 

Just beneath her was the cutting of the London, 
Midland and Scottish Railway, and Jim who had 
watched the heavily-laden trains toiling slowly and 
painfully up the steep incline, had often wondered if 
there was any danger from the showers of sparks which 
the engines so frequently threw up. 

“I must apologize for my rather rough intrusion,” 
he said with his sweet smile. “I heard your screams. 
You are Mrs. Fane, aren’t you?” 

She nodded, and there was admiration in the eyes 
that surveyed his well-knit figure. 

“I won’t start a conversation with you under these 
emibarrassing circumstances,” said Jim with a laugh, 
“but I’d like to say how sorry I am that you are so 
ill, Mrs. Fane. Could I send you some more books?” 

“Thank you,” she whispered. “You have done al¬ 
most enough.” 

He heard the door close as the servant, unconscious 
that anything was wrong, came in, and heard her 
startled exclamation as she smelt the smoke. Coming 
out into the passage he met Madge Benson’s astonished 
face. 

A few words explained his presence and the woman 
hustled him to the door a little unceremoniously. 

“Mrs. Fane is not allowed to see visitors, sir,” she 
said. “She gets so excited.” 

“What is the matter with her?” asked Jim, rather 
amused at the unmistakable ejection. 


BLUE HAND 79 

“Paralj^is in both legs,” said Madge Benson, and 
Jim uttered an exclamation of pity. 

“Don^t think I’m not grateful to you, Mr. Steele,” 
said the woman earnestly, ^‘when I saw that smoke 
coming out into the passage my heart nearly stopped 
beating. That is the second accident we have had.” 

She was so anxious for him to be off that he made 
no attempt to continue talking. 

So that was Mrs. Fane, thought Jim, as he strode 
along to his office. A singularly beautiful woman. 
The pity of it! She was still young and in the bloom 
of health save for this terrible affliction. 

Jim had a big heart for suffering humanity and es¬ 
pecially for women and children on whom the burden 
of sickness fell. He was half-way to the office when 
he remembered that Mrs. Fane had recognized him 
and called him by name! How could she have known 
him—she who had never left her sick room? 


CHAPTER THIRTEEN 


M' 


"R. GROAT will not be down to breakfast. 
He was working very late, miss.^’ 

Eunice nodded. She preferred the con¬ 
versation of Digby Groat to the veiled familiarity of 
his shrewd-faced servant. It would be difficult for 
her to define in what way Jackson offended her. Out¬ 
wardly he was respect itself, and she could not recall 
tany term or word he had employed to which she could 
reasonably take offense. It was the assurance of the 
man, his proprietorial attitude which irritated her. He 
reminded her of a boarding house at which she had 
once stayed, where the proprietor acted as butler, and 
endeavored, without success, to combine the deference 
of the servant, with the authority of the master. 

^^You were out very early this morning, miss,^’ said 
Jackson with his sly smile as he changed her plates. 

‘Ts there any objection to my going out before 
breakfast?” asked Eunice, her anger rising. 

‘‘None at all, miss,” said the man blandly. “I hope 
I haven’t offended you, only I happened to see you 
coming back.” 

She had been out to send the parcel and the letter to 
Jim, the nearest district messenger office being less 
than a quarter of a mile from Grosvenor Square. She 
opened her lips to speak and closed them again tightly. 
There was no reason in the world why she should ex¬ 
cuse herself to the servant. 

8o 


BLUE HAND 81 

Jackson was not ready to take a rebuff and besides 
he had something important to communicate. 

^‘You weren’t disturbed last night, were you, miss?” 
he asked. 

^‘What do you mean?” demanded Eunice looking 
up with a start. 

His keen eyes were upon her and without any reason 
she felt guilty. 

“Somebody was having a joke here last night, miss,” 
he said, “and the governor is as wild as . . . well, 
he’s mad I” 

She put down her knife and fork and sat back in her 
chair. 

“I don’t quite understand you, Jackson,” she said 
coldly. “What is the joke that somebody was having, 
and why do you ask me if I was disturbed? Did any¬ 
thing happen in the night?” 

The man nodded. 

“Somebody was in the house,” he said, “and it is a 
wonder that Mr. Groat didn’t hear it, because he was 
working in his laboratory. I thought perhaps you 
might have heard him searching the house afterwards.” 

Sh^ shook her head. Had the Blue Hand been de- 
tectefl she wondered? 

‘‘How do you know that a stranger was in the house?” 
she a-ked. 

“Because he left his mark,” said the man grimly. 
“You know that white door leading to the laboratory, 
miss?” 

She nodded. 

“Well, when Mr. Groat came out about half-past 
two thii’s morning he was going to turn out the hall 
lights w-hen he saw a smudge of paint on the door. He 


82 


BLUE HAND 


went back and found that it was the mark of a blue 
hand. IVe been trying to get it off all the morning, 
but it is greasy and can’t be cleaned.” 

‘The mark of a blue hand?” she repeated slowly 
and felt herself change color. “What does that 
mean?” 

“I’m blessed if I know,” said Jackson shaking his 
head. “The governor doesn’t know either. But 
there it was as plain as a pikestaff. I thought it was 
a servant who did it. There is one under notice and 
she might have been up to her tricks, but it couldn’t 
have been her. Besides, the servants’ sleeping rooms 
are at the back of the house and the door between the 
front and the back is kept locked.” 

So the mysterious visitor had not bf n sail d with 
warning her. She had warned Digby Groat a^. well! 

Eunice had nearly finished breakfast whesi Digby 
made his appearance. He was looking tired and hag¬ 
gard, she thought. He never looked his best in the 
early hours, but this morning he was more unprepos¬ 
sessing than usual. He shot a swift suspicious glance 
at the girl as he took his place at the table. 

“You have finished, I’m afraid, Miss Weldon he 
said briefly. “Has Jackson told you what happened 
in the night?” 

“Yes,” said Eunice quietly. “Have you any idea 
what it means?” 

He shook his head. 

“It means trouble to the person who did it? if I 
catch him,,” he said, then changing the ccinversation 
he asked how his mother was that moi oing. 

Eunice invariably called at Mrs. Gro,?t’s room on 
her way down and she was able to tell hhn t nat his 


BLUE HAND 83 

mother Was mending rapidly and had passed a very 
good night. 

“She can’t get well too soon,” he said. “How did 
you sleep, Miss Weldon?” 

“Very well,” she prevaricated. 

“Have you tried my chocolates?” he smiled. 

She nodded. 

“They are beautiful.” 

“Don’t eat too many at once, they are rather rich,” 
he said, and made no further reference either to that 
matter or to the midnight visitor. 

Later in the morning when she was going about her 
work, Eunice saw workmen engaged on cleaning the 
canvas door. Apparently the blue stain could not be 
eradicated and after a consultation with Digby, the 
canvas was being painted a dull blue color. 

She knew that Digby was perturbed more than or¬ 
dinarily. When she had met him, as she had occa¬ 
sionally that morning, he had worn a furtive, hunted 
look and once, when she had gone into his study to 
bring to his notice an account which she had unearthed, 
he was muttering to himself. 

That afternoon there was a reception at Lord Wal¬ 
tham’s house in Park Lane, in honor of a colonial 
premier who was visiting England. Digby Groat 
found it convenient to cultivate the acquaintance of 
the aesthetic Lord Waltham who was one of the great 
financial five of the City of London. Digby had gone 
cleverly to work to form a small syndicate for the 
immediate purchase of the Danton estate. The time 
had not yet come when he could dispose of this prop¬ 
erty, but it was fast approaching. 

There were many women in that brilliant assembly 


84 


BLUE HAND 

who would have been glad to know a man reputedly 
clever, and certainly the heir to great wealth, but in an 
inverted sense Digby was a fastidious man. Society 
which met him and discussed him over their dinner- 
tables were puzzled by his avoidance of woman’s so¬ 
ciety. He could have made a brilliant marriage had 
he so desired, but apparently the girls of his own set 
had no attraction for him. There were intimates, men 
about town who were less guarded in their language 
when they spoke across the table after the women had 
gone, and these told stories of him which did not re¬ 
dound to his credit. Digby in his youth had had many 
affairs; vulgar, sordid affairs which had left each vic¬ 
tim with an aching heart and no redress. 

He had only come to ‘‘look in” he explained. There 
was heavy work awaiting him at home, and he hinted 
at the new experiment he was making which would take 
up the greater part of the evening. 

“How is your mother. Groat?” asked Lord Waltham. 

“Thank you, sir, I think she is better,” replied Digby. 

He wanted to keep off the subject of his mother. 

“I can’t understand the extraordinary change that 
has come over her in late years,” said Lord Waltham 
with a little frown. “She used to be so bright and 
cheerful, one of the wittiest women I have ever met. 
And then of a sudden, her spirits seemed to go and 
if you don’t mind my saying so, she seemed to get old.” 

“I noticed that,” said Digby with an air of profound 
concern, “but women of her age frequently go all to 
pieces in a week.” 

“I suppose there’s something in that. I always for¬ 
get you’re a doctor,” smiled Lord Waltham. 

Digby took his leave and he, too, was chuckling 


BLUE HAND 


85 


softly to himself as he went down the steps to his wait¬ 
ing car. He wondered what Lord Waltham would say 
if he had explained the secret of his mother’s banished 
brightness. It was only by accident that he himself 
had ruade the discovery. She was a drug taker, as as¬ 
siduous a “dope” as he had ever met in his professional 
career. 

When he discovered this he had set himself to break 
down the habit. Not because he loved her, but be¬ 
cause he was a scientist addicted to experiments. He 
had found the source of her supply and gradually had 
extracted a portion of the narcotic from every pellet 
until the drug had ceased to have effect. 

The result from the old woman’s point of view was 
deplorable. She suddenly seemed to wither and Digby, 
whom she had ruled until then with a rod of iron, had 
to his surprise found himself the master. It was a 
lesson of which he was not slow to take advantage. 
Every day and night she was watched and the drug 
was kept from her. With it she was a slave to her 
habit; without it she was a slave to Digby. He pre¬ 
ferred the latter form of bondage. 

jK >{« * Hs 

Mr. Septimus Salter had not arrived when Jim had 
reached the office that morning and he waited, for he 
had a great deal to say to the old man, whom he had 
not seen for the better part of the week. 

When he did come, a little gouty and therefore more 
than a little petulant, he was inclined to pooh-pooh 
the suggestion that there was anything in the sign of 
the Blue Hand. 

“Whoever the person is, he or she must have had 
the stamp by them—you say it looks like a rubber 


86 


BLUE HAND 


stamp—and used it fortuitously. No, I can’t remem¬ 
ber any Blue Hand in the business. If I were you I 
should not attach too much importance to this.” 

Although Jim did not share his employer’s opinion 
he very wisely did not disagree. 

‘‘Now, what is this you were telling me about a will? 
You say Mrs. Groat has made a new will, subsequent 
to the one she executed in this office?” 

Jim assented. 

“And left all her money away from the boy, eh?” 
said old Mr. Salter thoughtfully. “Curiously enough, 
I have always had an idea that there was no love lost 
between that pair. To whom do you say the money 
was left?” 

“To the Marquis of Estremeda.” 

“I know the name,” nodded Mr. Salter. “He is a 
very rich grandee of Spain and was for some time an 
attache at the Spanish Embassy. He may or may not 
have been a friend of the Dantons, I cannot recall. 
There is certainly no reason why she should leave her 
money to one who, unless my memory is at fault, owns 
half a province and has three or four great houses in 
Spain. Now, here you are up against a real mystery. 
Now what is your news?” he asked. 

Jim had a little more to tell him. 

“I am taking the chocolates to an analyst—a friend 
of mine,” he said and Mr. Salter srmiled. 

“You don’t expect to discover that they are poi¬ 
soned, do you?” he asked drily. “You are not living 
in the days of Caesar Borgia and with all his poisonous 
qualities I have never suspected Digby Groat of being 
a murderer.” 

“Nevertheless,” said Jim, “I am leaving nothing to 


BLUE HAND 


87 


chance. My own theory is that there is something 
wrong with those innocent-looking sweetmeats, and the 
mysterious Blue Hand knew what it was and came to 
warn the girl.’’ 

‘^Rubbish,” growled the old lawyer. ‘^Get along 
with you. I have wasted too much time on this in¬ 
fernal case.” 

Jim’s first call was at a laboratory in Wigmore 
Street, and he explained to his friend just enough to 
excite his curiosity for further details, which, however, 
Jim was not prepared to give. 

^What do you expect to find?” said the chemist, 
weighing two chocolates in his palm. 

‘‘I don’t know exactly what I expect,” said Jim. 
‘^But I shall be very much surprised if you do not 
discover something that should not be there.” 

The scientist dropped the chocolates in a big test 
tube, poured in a liquid from two bottles and began 
heating the tube over a Bunsen burner. 

“Call this afternoon at three o’clock and I will give 
you all the grisly details,” he said. 

It was three o’clock when Jim returned, not expect¬ 
ing, it must be confessed, any startling results from the 
analysis. He was shown into the chemist’s office, and 
there on the desk were three test tubes standing in a 
little wooden holder. 

“Sit down, Steele,” said Mendhlesohn. He was, as 
his name implied, a member of a great Jewish frater¬ 
nity which has furnished so many brilliant geniuses 
to the world. “I can’t quite make out this analysis,” 
he said. “But, as you thought, there are certainly 
things in the chocolates which should not be there.” 

“Poison?” said Jim, aghast. 


88 


BLUE HAND 


Mendhlesohn shook his head. 

“Technically, yes,” he admitted. “There is poison 
in almost everything, but I doubt whether the eating 
of a thousand of these would produce death. I found 
traces of bromide of potassium, and traces of hyoscin, 
and another drug which is distilled from cannabis 
indicaP 

“That is hashish, isn^t it?” 

Mendhlesohn nodded. 

“When it is smoked it is called hashish; when it is 
distilled we have another name for it. These three 
drugs come, of course, into the category of poisons, and 
in combination, taken in large doses, they would pro¬ 
duce unconsciousness and ultimately death, but there 
is not enough of the drug present in these sweets to 
bring about that alarming result.” 

“What result would it produce?” asked Jim. 

“That is just what is puzzling me and my friend. 
Dr. Jakes,” said Mendhlesohn rubbing his unshaven 
chin. “Jakes thinks that, administered in small con¬ 
tinuous doses, the effect of this drug would be to 
destroy the will power, and, what for a better term I 
would describe in the German fashion, as the resistance- 
to-evil-power of the human mind. In England, as 
you probably know, when a nervous and highly ex¬ 
citable man is sentenced to death, it is the practice to 
place minute doses of bromide in everything he eats 
and drinks, in order to reduce him to such a low con¬ 
dition of mental resistance, that even the thought of 
an impending doom has no effect upon him.” 

Jim^s face had gone suddenly pale, as the horror of 
the villainous plot dawned upon him. 

“What effect would this have upon a high-spirited 


BLUE HAND 89 

girl, who was, let us say, being made love to by a man 
she disliked?” 

The chemist shrugged his shoulders. 

‘T suppose that eventually her dislike would de¬ 
velop into apathy and indifference. She would not 
completely forego her resistance to his attentions, but 
at the same time, that resistance would be more readily 
overcome. There are only two types of mind,” he 
went on, “the ^dominant’ and the ‘recessive.’ We call 
the ‘dom,inant’ that which is the more powerful and 
the ‘recessive’ that which is the less powerful. In this 
world it is possible for a little weak man to dominate a 
big and vigorous man, by what you would call the 
sheer force of his personality. The effect of this drug 
would ultimately be to turn a powerful mind into a 
weak mind. I hope I am not being too scientific,” 
he smiled. 

“I can follow you very well,” said Jim quietly. 
“Now tell me this, Mendhlesohn, would it be possible 
to get a conviction against the person who supplied 
these sweets?” 

Mendhlesohn shook his head. 

“As I told you, the doses are in such minute quan¬ 
tities, that it is quite possible they may have got in by 
accident. I have only been able to find what we 
chemists call a ‘trace’ so far, but probably the doses 
would be increased from week to week. If in three 
weeks’ time you bring me chocolates or other food that 
has been tampered with, I shall be able to give you a 
very exact analysis.” 

“Were all the chocolates I brought similarly 
treated?” 

Mendhlesohn nodded. 


90 


BLUE HAND 


they had been doped,” he went on, ‘‘the doping 
has been very cleverly done. There is no discolora¬ 
tion of the interior and the drug must have been intro¬ 
duced by what we call saturation, which only a very 
skillful chemist or a doctor trained in chemistry would 
attempt.” 

Jim said nothing. Digby Groat was both a skilled 
chemist and a doctor trained in chemistry. 

On leaving the laboratory he went for his favorite 
walk in Hyde Park. He wanted to be alone and think 
this matter out. He must act with the greatest cau¬ 
tion, he thought. To warn the girl on such slender 
foundation was not expedient. He must wait until 
the dose had been increased, though that meant that 
she was to act as a bait for Digby Groat’s destruction 
and he writhed at the thought. But she must not 
know; he was determined as to this. 

That night he had arranged a pleasant little dinner, 
and he was looking forward eagerly to a meeting with 
one whose future absorbed his whole attention and 
thoughts. Even the search for Lady Mary Danton 
had receded into the background, and might have 
vanished altogether as a matter of interest, were it not 
for the fact that Digby Groat and his affairs were so 
inextricably mixed up with the mystery. Whilst 
Eunice Weldon was an inmate of the Groats’ house, 
the Danton mystery would never be completely out 
of his thoughts. 


CHAPTER FOURTEEN 


J IM had never seen the girl in evening clothes, and 
he was smitten dumb by her ethereal beauty. 
She wore a simple dress of cream charmeuse, in¬ 
nocent of color, except for the touch of gold at her 
waist. She looked taller to Jim^s eyes and the sweet 
dignity of her face was a benison which warmed and 
comforted his heart. 

‘Well,’’ she asked as the cab was proceeding towards 
Piccadilly, “am I presentable?” 

“You’re wonderful!” breathed Jim. 

He sat stiffly in the cab, scarcely daring to move 
lest the substance of this beautiful dream be touched 
by his irreverent hands. Her loveliness was unearthly 
and he, too, could adore, though from a different 
standpoint, the glorious promise of her womanhood, 
the delicious contours of her Madonna-like face. She 
was to him the spirit and embodiment of all that 
womanhood means. She was the truth of the dreams 
that men dream, the divine substance of shadowy fig¬ 
ures that haunt their thoughts and dreams. 

“Phew!” he said, “you almost frighten me, Eunice.” 
He heard her silvery laugh in the darkness. 

“You’re very silly, Jim,” she said, slipping her arm 
into his. 

Nevertheless, she experienced a thrill of triumph and 
happiness that she had impressed him so. 

“I have millions of questions to ask you,” she said 
91 


92 


BLUE HAND 


after they had been ushered to a corner of the big 
dining-room of the Ritz-Carlton. “Did you get my 
letter? And did you think I was mad to send you 
those chocolates? Of course, it was terribly unfair to 
Mr. Groat, but, really, Jim, you’re turning me into a 
suspicious old lady!” 

He laughed gently. 

“I loved your letter,” he said simply. “And as for 

the chocolates-” he hesitated. 

“Well?” 

“I should tell him that you enjoyed them thor¬ 
oughly,” he smiled. 

“I have,” said the girl ruefully. “I hate telling lies, 
even that kind of lie.” 

“And the next box you receive,” Jim went on, “you 
must send me three or four of its contents.” 

She was alarmed now, looking at him, her red lips 
parted, her eyebrows crescents of inquiry. 

“Was there anything wrong with them?” she asked. 

He was in a dilemima. He could not tell her the 
result of the analysis, and at the same time he could 
not allow her to run any further into needless danger. 
He had to invent something on the spur of the moment 
and his excuse was lame and unconvincing. 

Listening, she recognized their halting nature, but 
was sensible enough not to insist upon rigid explana¬ 
tions, and moreover, she wanted to discuss the hand 
and its startling appearance in the middle of the night. 

“It sounds almost melodramatic,” said Jim, but his 
voice was grave, “and I find a great difficulty in recon¬ 
ciling the happening to the realities of life. Of one 
thing I’m sure,” he went on, “and it is that this strange 
woman, if womlan it be, has a reason for her acts. The 


BLUE HAND 


93 


mark of the hand is deliberately designed. That it is 
blue has a meaning, too, a meaning which apparently 
is not clear to Digby Groat. And now let us talk about 
ourselves,’^ he smiled and his hand rested for a mo¬ 
ment over hers. 

She did not attempt to withdraw her own until the 
waiter came in sight, and then she drew it away so 
gently as to suggest reluctance. 

^T’m going to stay another month with the Groats,’’ 
she informed him, “and then if Mrs. Groat doesn’t find 
some real work for n^e to do, I’m going back to the 
photographers—if they’ll have me.” 

“I know somebody who wants you more than the 
photographer,” he said quietly, “somebody whose 
heart just aches whenever you pass out of his sight.” 

She felt her own heart beating thunderously and the 
hand that he held under the cover of the table trembled. 

“Who is that—somebody?” she asked faintly. 

“Somebody who will not ask you to marry him until 
he can offer you an assured position,” said Jim. 
“Somebody who loves the very ground you walk upon 
so much that he mjust have carpets for your dear feet 
and a mansion to house you more comfortably than the 
tiny attic overlooking the London, Midland and Scot¬ 
tish Railway.” 

She did not speak for a long time, and he thought he 
had offended her. The color came and went in her 
face, the soft rounded bosom rose and fell more quickly 
than was usual, and the hand that he held closed so 
tightly upon his fingers that they were almost numb 
when she suddenly released her hold. 

“Jim,” she said, still averting her eyes, “I could 
work very well on bare boards, and I should love to 


94 BLUE HAND 

watch the London, Midland and Scottish trains—^go 
past your attic.” 

She turned her head to his and he saw that her eyes 
were bright with tears. 

‘‘If you’re not very careful, Jim Steele,” she said, 
with an attempt at raillery, “I shall propose to you!” 

“May I smoke?” said Jim huskily, and when she 
nodded and he lit his match, she saw the flame was 
quivering in his shaking hand. 

She wondered what made him so quiet for the rest 
of the evening. She could not know that he was 
stunned and shaken by the great fortune that had 
come to him, that his heart was as numb with happi¬ 
ness as his fingers had been in the pressure of her 
hand. 

When they drove back to the house that night she 
wanted him to take her in his arms in the darkness of 
the cab and crush her against his breast: she wanted 
to feel his kisses on her lips, her eyes. If he had asked 
her at that moment to run away with him, to commit 
the maddest folly, she would have consented joy¬ 
ously, for her love for the man was surging up like a 
bubbling stream of subterranean fire that had found 
its vent, overwhelming and burning all reason, all tradi¬ 
tion. 

Instead, he sat by her side, holding her hand and 
dreaming of the golden future which awaited him. 

“Good-night, Jim,” her voice sounded cold and a 
little dispirited, as she put her gloved hand in his at 
the door of 409. 

“Good-night,” he said in a low voice and kissed her 
hand. 

She was nearly in tears when she went into her room 


BLUE HAND 


95 


and shut the door behind her. She walked to her 
dressing-table and looked in the glciss, long and inquir¬ 
ingly, and then she shook her head. 

‘‘I wish he wasn^t so good,’' she said, “or else more 
of a herol” 


CHAPTER FIFTEEN 


J IM continued his journey to the flat, so enveloped 
in the rosy clouds which had descended upon him, 
that he was unconscious of time or space, and it 
seemed that he had only stepped into the cab when 
it jerked to a halt before the portals of Feather dale 
Mansions. He might have continued in his dream 
without interruption had not the cabman, with some 
asperity, called him back to remind him that he had 
not paid his fare. 

That brought him back to the earth. 

As he was about to open the outer door of the flats 
(it was closed at eleven every night) the door opened of 
its own accord and he stepped back to allow a lady to 
pass. She was dressed from head to foot in black and 
she passed him without a word, he staring after her as 
she walked with quick steps to a motor-car that he 
had noticed drawn up a few yards from where his cab 
had stopped. Who was she, he wondered as the car 
passed out of sight. 

He dismissed her from his thoughts, for the glamour 
of the evening was not yet passed and for an hour he 
sat in his big chair, staring into vacancy and recalling 
every incident of that precious evening. He could not 
believe it was true that this half-divine being was to 
be his, and then with a deep sigh he aroused himself 
to a sense of reality. 

There was work to be done, he thought, as he rose 
96 


BLUE HAND 


97 


to his feet, and it was work for her. His income was a 
small one, and must be considerably augmented before 
he dare ask this beautiful lady to share his lot. 

He glanced idly at the table. That afternoon he 
had been writing up his notes of the case and the book 
was still where he had left it, only- 

He could have sworn he had left it open. He had a 
remarkable memory for little things, tiny details of 
placements and position, and he was sure the book had 
not only been closed, but that its position had been 
changed. 

A woman came in the mornings to clean the flat 
and make his bed and invariably he let her in himself. 
She usually arrived when he was making his own break¬ 
fast—another fad of his. She had no key and under 
any circumstances never came at night. 

He opened the book and almost jumped. 

Between the pages marking the place where he had 
been writing was a key of a peculiar design. Attached 
to the handle was a tiny label on which was written: 
‘‘D. G.^s m;aster key.’’ 

This time there was no sign of the Blue Hand, but 
he recognized the writing. It was the same which 
had appeared on the warning card which the girl had 
received. 

The woman in black had been to his flat—and had 
left him the means to enter Digby Groat’s premises! 

‘Thew!” whistled Jim in amazement. 



CHAPTER SIXTEEN 


E unice woke in the morning with a queer 
little sense of disappointment. It was not until 
she was thoroughly awake, sitting up in bed 
and sipping the fragrant tea which the maid had 
brought her, that she analyzed the cause. Then she 
laughed at herself. 

‘‘Eunice Weldon,” she said shaking her head sadly, 
“you’re a bold woman! Because the best man in the 
world was too good, too silly, or too frightened to kiss 
you, you are working up a grievance. In the first 
place, Eunice Weldon, you shouldn’t have proposed to 
a man. It was unladylike and certain to lead to your 
feeling cheap. You should have been content to wait 
for the beautiful carpet under your feet and the man¬ 
sion over your head, and should have despised the 
bare boards of an attic overlooking the railway. I 
don’t suppose they are bare boards, Eunice,” she 
mused. “They are certain to be very nicely covered 
and there will be all sorts of mementos of Jim’s cam¬ 
paigns hanging on the walls or tucked away in odd little 
cupboards. And I’m sure when the trains are not 
rattling past, that the view from the window is beauti¬ 
ful, and anyway, I shouldn’t have time to look out of 
the window. There would be Jim’s shirts to mend, 
Jim’s socks to darn, and—Eunice Weldon, get up!” 
she said hurriedly as she slipped out of bed. 

Going along the corridor Digby Groat heard the 
98 


BLUE HAND 99 

sound of her fresh young voice singing in the bathroom 
and he smiled. 

The ripe beauty of the girl had come on him with a 
rush. She was no longer desirable, she was necessary. 
He had intended to make her his plaything, he was as 
determined now that she should be his decoration. 
He laughed aloud at the little conceit! A decoration! 
Something that would enhance him in the eyes of his 
fellows. Even marriage would be a small price to pay 
for the possession of that jewel. 

Jackson saw him smiling as he came down the stairs. 

^‘Another box of chocolates has arrived, sir,” he 
said in a low voice, as though he were imparting a 
shameful secret. 

“Throw them in the ashpit, or give them! to my 
mother,” said Digby carelessly and Jackson stared at 
him. 

“Aren^t you-” he began. 

“Don’t ask so many questions, Jackson.” Digby 
turned his glittering eyes upon his servant and there 
was an ugly look in his face. “You are getting just a 
little too interested in things, my friend. And whilst 
we are on this matter, let me say, Jackson, that when 
you speak to Miss Weldon I want you to take that 
damned grin off your face and talk as a servant to a 
lady; do you understand that?” 

“I’m no servant,” said the m^n sullenly. 

“That is the part you are playing now, so play it,” 
said Digby, “and don’t sulk with me, or-” 

His hand went up to a rack hanging on the wall 
where reposed a collection of hunting crops, and his 
fingers closed over the nearest. 

The man started back. 



100 


BLUE HAND 


“I didn^t mean anything,’’ he whined, his face livid. 
“I’ve tried to be respectful-” 

“Get my letters,” said Digby curtly, “and bring 
them into the dining-room.” 

Eunice came into the room at that moment. 

“Good morning. Miss Weldon,” said Digby pulling 
out her chair from the table. “Did you have a nice 
dinner?” 

“Oh, splendid,” she said, and then changed the con¬ 
versation. 

She was dreading the possibility of his turning the 
conversation to the previous night, and was glad when 
the meal was finished. 

Digby’s attitude, however, was most correct. He 
spoke of general topics, and did not touch upon her 
outing, and when she went to Mrs. Groat’s room to 
play at work, for it was only playing, the real work 
had been done, he did not, as she feared he might, 
follow her. 

Digby waited until the doctor called, and waylaying 
him in the passage learned that his mother had com¬ 
pletely recovered, and though a recurrence of the 
stroke was possible, it was not immediately likely. He 
had a few words to say to her that morning. 

Old Mrs. Groat sat by the window in a wheeled 
chair, a huddled, unlovely figure; her dark gloomy eyes 
surveyed without interest the stately square with its 
green centerpiece. The change of seasons had for 
her no other significance than a change of clothing. 
The wild heart which once leapt to the call of spring, 
beat feebly in a body in which passion had burnt 
itself to bitter ashes. And yet the gnarled hands, 
crossing and re-crossing each other on her lap had 


BLUE HAND 101 

once touched and blessed as they had touched and 
blasted. 

Once or twice her mind went to this new girl, 
Eunice Weldon. There was no ray of pity in her 
thought. If Digby wanted the girl he would take her, 
and her fate interested old Jane Groat no more than 
the fate of the fly that buzzed upon the window, and 
whom a flick' of her handkerchief presently swept from 
existence. There was m,ore reason why the girl should 
go if . . . she frowned. The scar on the wrist was 
m,uch bigger than a sixpence. It was probably a 
coincidence. 

She hoped that Digby would concentrate on his 
new quest and leave her alone. She was mortally 
afraid of him, fearing in her own heart the length to 
which he would go to have his will. She knew that 
her life would be snuffed out, like the flame of a 
candle, if it were expedient for Digby to remove her. 
When she had recovered consciousness and found her¬ 
self in charge of a nurse, her first thought had been 
of wonder that Digby had allowed her to revive. He 
knew nothing of the will, she thought, and a twisted 
smile broke upon her lined face. There was a surprise 
in store for him. She would not be there to see it, 
that was the pity. But she could gloat in anticipation 
over his chagrin and his impotent rage. 

The handle of the door turned and there followed a 
whispered conversation. Presently the door closed 
again. 

‘‘How are you this morning, mother?’^ said the 
pleasant voice of Digby, and she blinked round at him 
in a flutter of agitation. 

“Very well, my boy, very well,” she said tremu- 


102 


BLUE HAND 


lously. ‘Won’t you sit down?” She glanced nerv¬ 
ously about for the nurse, but the woman had gone. 
“Will you tell the nurse I want her^ my boy?” she 
began. 

“The nurse can wait,” said her dutiful son coolly. 
“There are one or two things I want to talk to you 
about before she returns. But principally I want to 
know why you left me with a beggarly twenty- 
thousand pounds to face the world?” 

She nearly collapsed with the shock. 

“A will, my boy?” She whined the words. “What 
on earth are you talking about?” 

“The will which you made and put into that secret 
drawer of your cabinet,” he said patiently, “and don’t 
tell me that I’mi dreaming, or that you did it for 
a joke, or that it was an act of mental aberration on 
your part. Tell me the truth!” 

“It was a will I made years ago, my dear,” she 
quavered. “When I thought twenty-thousand pounds 
w:as all the money I possessed.” 

“You’re a liar,” said Digby without heat. “And a 
stupid old liar. You made that will to spite me, you 
old devil!” 

She was staring at him in horror. 

Digby was most dangerous when he talked in that 
cool, even tone of his. 

“I have destroyed the precious document,” said 
Digby Groat in the same conversational voice, “and 
when you see Miss Weldon, who witnessed its destruc¬ 
tion, I would be glad if you would tell her, that the 
will she saw consumed was one which you made when 
you were not quite right in your head.” 

Mrs. Groat was incapable of speech. Her chin 


BLUE HAND 103 

trembled convulsively and her only thought was how 
she could attract the attention of the nurse. 

^Tut my chair back against the bed, Digby,^’ she 
said faintly. “The light is too strong.” 

He hesitated, but did as she asked, then seeing her 
hand close upon the bell-push which hung by the side 
of the bed, he laughed. 

“You need not be afraid, mother,” he said con¬ 
temptuously, “I did not intend taking any other action 
than I have already taken. Remember that your in¬ 
fernal nurse will not be here all the time, and do as 
I ask you. I will send Miss Weldon up to you in a 
few minutes on the excuse of taking instructions from 
you and answering some letters which came for you 
this morning. Do you understand?” 

She nodded and at that moment the nurse came in. 

Summoned to the sick-room, Eunice found her em¬ 
ployer looking more feeble than she had appeared 
before she was stricken down. The old woman’s eyes 
smoldered their hate, as the girl came into the room. 
She guessed it was Eunice who had discovered the will 
and loathed her, but fear was the greater in her, and 
after the few letters had been formally answered, 
Mrs. Groat stopped the girl, who was in the act of 
rising. 

“Sit down again. Miss Weldon,” she said. “I 
wanted to tell you about a will of mine that you 
found. I’m very glad you discovered it. I had for¬ 
gotten that I had made it.” 

Every word was strained and hateful to utter. 

“You see, my dear young woman, I sometimes suffer 
from a curious lapse of memory, and—and—^that will 
was made when I was suffering from an attack-” 


104 


BLUE HAND 


Eunice listened to the halting words and was under 
the impression that the hesitation was due to the old 
woman’s weakness. 

“I quite imderstand, Mrs. Groat,” she said sym¬ 
pathetically. ‘‘Your son told me.” 

“He told you, did he?” said Jane Groat returning 
to her contemplation of the window, then, when 
Eunice was waiting for her dismissal, “Are you a great 
friend of my son’s?” 

Eunice smiled. 

“No, not a great friend, Mrs. Groat,” she said. 

“You will be,” said the woman, “greater than you 
imagine,” and there was such malignity in the tone 
that the girl shuddered. 


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 


J IM loved London, the noise and the smell of it. 
He loved its gentle thunders, its ineradicable 
good humor, its sublime muddle. Paris de¬ 
pressed him, with its air of gayety and the underlying 
fierceness of lifers struggle. There was no rest in the 
soul of Paris. It was a city of strenuous bargain¬ 
ing, of ruthless exploitation. Brussels was a dumpy, 
undergrown Paris, Berlin, a stucco Gomorrah, Ma¬ 
drid, an extinct crater beneath which a new volcanic 
stream was seeking a vent. 

New York he loved, a city of steel and concrete 
teeming with sentimentalists posing as tyrants. 
There was nothing quite like New York in the world. 
Dante in his most prodigal mood n^ght have dreamt 
New York and da Vinci might have planned it, but 
only the high gods could have materialized the dream 
or built to the master’s plan. But London was Lon¬ 
don—incomparable, beautiful. It was the history of 
the world and the mark of civilization. He made a 
detour and passed through Covent Garden. 

The blazing color and fragrance of it I Jinx could 
have lingered all the morning in the draughty halls, 
but he was due at the office to meet Mr. Salter. 

Almost the first question that the lawyer asked him 
was: 

‘‘Have you investigated Selengers?” 

The identity of the mysterious Selengers had been 
forgotten for the moment, Jim admitted. 


106 


BLUE HAND 


“You ought to know who they are/^ said the lawyer. 
“You will probably discover that Groat or his mother 
are behind them. The fact that the offices were once 
the property of Danton rather supports this idea— 
though theories are an abomination to me!’^ 

Jim agreed. 

There were so many issues to the case that he had 
almost lost sight of his main object. 

“The more I think of it” he confessed, “the more 
useless my search seems to me, Mr. Salter. If I find 
Lady Mary, you say that I shall be no nearer to 
frustrating the Groats 

Mr. Septimus Salter did not immediately reply. He 
had said as much, but subsequently had amended his 
point of view. Theories, as he had so emphatically 
stated, were abominable alternatives to facts and yet 
he could not get out of his head that if the theory he 
had formed to account for Lady Mary Danton’s 
obliteration were substantiated, a big step would have 
been taken toward clearing up a host of minor 
mysteries. 

“Go ahead with Selengers,” he said at last. “Possi¬ 
bly you may find that their enquiries are made as 
much to find Lady Mary as to establish the identity 
of your young friend. At any rate, you can’t be 
doing much harm.” 


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 


T twelve o’clock that night Eunice heard a car 



draw up in front of the house. She had not 


JL JL yet retired, and she stepped out on to the 
balcony as Digby Groat ascended the steps. 

Eunice closed the door and pulled the curtains 
across. She was not tired enough to go to bed. She 
had very foolishly succumbed to the temptation to 
take a doze that afternoon, and to occupy her time 
she had brought up the last bundle of accounts, un¬ 
earthed from a box in the wine-cellar, and had spent 
the evening tabulating them. 

She finished the last account, and fixing a rubber 
band round them, rose and stretched herself, and then 
she heard a sound; a stealthy foot upon the stone of 
the balcony floor. There was no mistaking it. She 
had never heard it before on the occasion of the earlier 
visits. She switched out the light, drew back the 
curtains noiselessly and softly unlocked the French 
window. She listened. There it was again. She 
felt no fear, only the thrill of impending discovery. 
Suddenly she jerked open the window and stepped out, 
and for a time saw nothing, then as her eyes grew ac¬ 
customed to the darkness, she saw something crouch¬ 
ing against the wall. 

^‘Who is that?” she cried. 

There was no reply for a little time; then the voice 
said: 


107 


108 


BLUE HAND 


“I am awfully sorry to have frightened you, 
Eunice.” It was Jim Steele. 

she gasped incredulously, and then a wave 
of anger swept over her. So it had been Jim all the 
time and not a woman I Jim, who had been support¬ 
ing his prejudices by these contemptible tricks. Her 
anger was unreasonable, but it was very real and 
born of the shock of disillusionment. She remem¬ 
bered in a flash how sympathetic Jim had been when 
she told him of the midnight visitor and how he had 
pretended to be puzzled. So he was fooling her all 
the time. It was hateful of him! 

‘^I think you had better go,” she said coldly. 

‘‘Let me explain, Eunice.” 

“I don’t think any explanation is necessary,” she 
said. “Really Jim, it is despicable of you.” 

She went back to her room with wildly beating heart. 
She could have wept for vexation. Jim! He was the 
mysterious blue hand, she thought indignantly, and he 
had made a laughing stock of her! Probably he was 
the writer of the letters, too, and had been in her room 
that night. She stamped her foot in her anger. She 
hated him for deceiving her. She hated him for shat¬ 
tering the idol she had set up in her heart. She had 
never felt so unutterably miserable as she was when 
she flung herself on her bed and Wept until she fell 
asleep from sheer exhaustion. 

“Damn!” muttered Jim as he slipped out of the 
house and strode in search of his muddy little car. An 
unprofitable evening had ended tragically. 

“Bungling, heavy-footed jackass,” he growled 
savagely as he spun perilously round a corner and 


BLUE HAND 


109 


nearly into a taxi-cab which had ventured to the wrong 
side of the road. But he was not cursing the cab- 
driver. It was his own stupidity which had led him to 
test the key which had made a remarkable appearance 
on his table the night before. He had gone on to the 
balcony, merely to examine the fastenings of the girPs 
window, with the idea of judging her security. 

He felt miserable and would have been glad to talk 
his trouble over with somebody. But there was no¬ 
body he could think of, nobody whom he liked well 
enough, unless it was—Mrs. Fane. He half smiled 
at the thought and wondered what that invalid lady 
would think of him if he knocked her up at this hour 
to pour his woes into her sympathetic ears! The 
sweet, sad-faced woman had made a very deep impres¬ 
sion upon him, he was surprised to find how often she 
came into his thoughts. 

Half-way up Baker Street he brought his car to a 
walking pace and turned. He had remembered 
Selengers, and it had just occurred to him that at this 
hour he was more likely to profit by a visit than by a 
day-time call. It was nearly two o^clock when he 
stopped in Brade Street and descended. 

He remembered the janitor had told him that there 
was a side entrance, which was used alone by Selengers. 
He found the narrow court which led to the back of 
the building, and after a little search discovered what 
was evidently the door which would bring him through 
the courtyard to the back of Brade Street Buildings. 
He tried the door and to his surprise it was unlocked. 
Hearing the soft pad of the policeman’s feet in the 
street, and not wishing to be discovered trying strange 


110 


BLUE HAND 


doors at that hour, he passed through and closed it 
behind him^ waiting till the officer had passed before 
he continued his investigations. 

In preparation for such a contingency he had brought 
with him a small electric lamp, and with the aid of 
this he found his way across the paved yard to a door 
which opened into the building. This was locked, he 
discovered to his dismay. There must be another, he 
thought, and began looking for it. There were win¬ 
dows overlooking the courtyard, but these were so 
carefully shuttered that it was impossible to tell 
whether lights shone behind them or not. 

He found the other entrance at an angle of two walls, 
tried it, and to his delight it opened. He was in a 
short stone corridor and at the farther end was a barred 
gate. Short of this and to the right was a green door. 
He turned the handle softly and as it opened he saw 
that a brilliant light was burning within. He pushed 
it further and stepped into the room. 

He was in an office which was unfurnished except 
for a table and a chair, but it was not the desolate 
appearance of the apartment which held his eye. 

As he had entered a woman, dressed from head to 
foot in black, was passing to a second room, and at 
the sound of the door she turned quickly and drew her 
veil over her face. But she had delayed that action 
a little too long, and Jim, with a gasp of amazement, 
had looked upon the face of that ‘‘incurable invalid,’’ 
Mrs. Fane! 


CHAPTER NINETEEN 


THO are you, and what do you want?” she 
\/\/ asked. He saw her hand drop to the fold 
▼ ▼ of her dress, then: ‘‘Mr. Steele,” she said 
as she recognized him. 

sorry to disturb you,” said Jim as he closed 
the door behind him, “but I wanted to see you pretty 
badly.” 

“Sit down, Mr. Steele. Did you see my-she 

hesitated, “see my face?” 

He nodded gravely. 

“And did you recognize me?” 

He nodded again. 

“Yes, you are Mrs. Fane,” he said quietly. 

Slowly her hands rose and she unpinned the veil. 

“You may lock the door,” she said, “yes, I am Mrs. 
Fane.” 

He was so bewildered, despite his seeming self- 
possession, that he had nothing to say. 

“You probably think I have been practicing a wicked 
and mean deception,” she said, “but there are reasons 
—excellent reasons—why I should not be abroad in 
the daytime, and why, if I were traced to Featherdale 
Mansions, I should not be identified with the woman 
who walks at night.” 

“Then it was you who left the key?” he said. 

She nodded, and all the time her eyes never left his 
face. 


Ill 


112 


BLUE HAND 


“I am afraid I cannot enlighten you any farther/’ 
she said, “partly because I am not prepared at this 
moment to reveal my hand and partly because there 
is so little that I could reveal if I did.” 

And only a few minutes before he had been thinking 
how jolly it would be if he could lay all his troubles 
and perplexities before her. It was incredible that he 
should be talking with her at this midnight hour in a 
prosaic city office. He looked at the delicate white 
hand which rested against her breast and smiled, and 
she with her quick perceptions guessed the cause of 
his annusement. 

“You are thinking of the Blue Hand?” she said 
quickly. 

“Yes, I am thinking of the Blue Hand,” said Jim. 

“You have an idea that that is just a piece of 
chicanery and that the hand has no significance?” she 
asked quietly. 

“Curiously enough I don’t think that,” said Jim. 
“I believe that symbol is a very interesting story, but 
you must tell it in your own time, Mrs. Fane.” 

She paced the room deep in thought, her hands 
clasped before her, her chin on her breast, and he 
waited, wondering how this strange discovery would 
develop. , 

“You came because you heard from, South Africa 
that I had been making inquiries about the girl—she 
is not in danger?” 

“No,” said Jim with a wry face. “At present I am 
in danger of having offended her beyond pardon.” 

She looked at him sharply, but did not ask for an 
explanation. 


BLUE HAND 


113 


“If you had thought my warnings were theatrical 
and meaningless, I should not have blamed you,” she 
said after a while, “but I had to reach her in some way 
that would impress her.” 

“There is something I cannot understand, Mrs. 
Fane,” said Jim. “Suppose Eunice had told Digby 
Groat of this warning?” 

She smiled. 

“He knows,” she said quietly, and Jim remembered 
the hand on the laboratory door. “No, he is not the 
person who will irnderstand what it all means,” she 
said. “As to your Eunice,” her lips parted in a daz¬ 
zling little smile, “I would not like any harm to come 
to the child.” 

“Have you any special reason for wishing to protect 
her?” asked Jim. 

She shook her head. 

“I thought I had a month ago,” she said. “I 
thought she was somebody whom I was seeking. A 
chance resemblance, fleeting and elusive, brought me 
to her; she was one of the shadows I pursued,” she 
said with a bitter little smile, “one of the ghosts that 
led nowhere. She interested me. Her beauty, her 
fresh innocence and her character have fascinated me, 
even though she has ceased to be the real object of my 
search. And you, Mr. Steele. She interests you, 
too?” She eyed him keenly. 

“Yes,” said Jim, “she interests me, too.” 

“Do you love her?” 

The question was so unexpected that Jim for once 
was not prepared with an answer. He was a reticent 
man ordinarily, and now that the opportunity pre- 


114 BLUE HAND 

sented he could not discuss the state of his feelings 
towards Eunice. 

“If you do not really love her,” said the woman, 
“do not hurt her, Mr. Steele. She is a very young 
girl, too good to be the passing amusement that Digby 
Groat intends she shall be.” 

“Does he?” said Jim between his teeth. 

She nodded. 

“There is a great future for you, and I hope that 
you will not ruin that career by an infatuation which 
has the appearance at the moment of being love.” 

He looked at the flushed and animated face and 
thought that next to Eunice she was the most beautiful 
woman he had ever seen. 

“I am almost at the end of my pursuit,” she went 
on, “and once we can bring Digby Groat and his 
mother to book, my work will be done.” She shook 
her head sadly. “I have no further hope, no further 
hope,” she said. 

“Hope of what?” asked Jim. 

“Finding what I sought,” said Mrs. Fane, and her 
luminous eyes were fixed on his. “But I was mad, I 
sought that which is beyond recall and I miust use the 
remaining years of my life for such happiness as God 
will send to me. Forty-three years of waste!” she 
threw out her arms with passionate gesture. “Forty- 
three years of suffering. A loveless childhood, a love¬ 
less marriage, a bitter betrayal. I have lost every¬ 
thing, Mr. Steele, everything. Husband and child 
and hope.” 

Jim started back. 

“Good God!” he said, “then you are-” 



4 




BLUE HAND 115 

“I am Lady Mary Danton.” She looked at him 
strangely. thought you had guessed that.” 

Lady Mary Danton! 

Then his search was ended, thought Jim with dis¬ 
may. A queer, unsatisfactory ending, which brought 
him no nearer to reward or advancement, both of which 
were so vitally necessary now. 

‘^You look disappointed,” she said, “and yet you 
had set yourself out to find Lady Mary.” 

He nodded. 

“And you have found her. Is she less attractive 
than you had imagined?” 

He did not reply. He could not tell her that his 
real search had not been for her, but for her dead 
child. 

“Do you know I have been seeing you every day 
for months, Mr. Steele?” she asked. “I have sat by 
your side in railway trains, in tube trains, and even 
stood by your side in tube lifts,” she said with the ghost 
of a smile. “I have watched you and studied you and 
I have liked you.” 

She said the last words deliberately and her beautiful 
hand rested for a second on his shoulder. 

“Search your heart about Eunice,” she said, “and 
if you find that you are mistaken in your sentiments, 
remember that there is a great deal of happiness to be 
found in this world.” 

There was no mistaking her meaning. 

“I love Eunice,” said Jim quietly, and the hand that 
rested on his shoulder was withdrawn, “I love her as 
I shall never love any other woman in life. She is 
the beginning and end of my dreams.” He did not 


116 BLUE HAND 

look up at the woman, but he could hear her quick 
breathing. 

Presently she said in a low voice: 

“I was afraid so—I was afraid so.” 

And then Jim, whose moral courage was beyond 
question, rose and faced her. 

“Lady Mary,” he said quietly, “you have abandoned 
hope that you will ever find your daughter?” 

She nodded. 

“Suppose Eunice were your daughter? Would you 
give her to me?” 

She raised her eyes to his. 

“I would give her to you with thankfulness,” she said, 
“for you are the one man in the world whom I would 
desire any girl I love to marry,” she shook her head. 
“But you, too, are pursuing shadows,” she said. 
“Eunice is not my daughter—I have traced her parent¬ 
age and there is no doubt at all upon the matter. 
She is the daughter of a South African musician.” 

“Have you seen the scar on her wrist?” he asked 
slowly. It was his last hope of identification and when 
she shook her head, his heart sank. 

“I did not know that she had a scar on her wrist. 
What kind of a scar is it?” she asked. 

“A small round burn the size of a sixpence,” said 
Jim. 

“My baby had no such mark—she had no blemish 
whatever.” 

“Nothing that would have induced some evilly dis¬ 
posed person to remove?” 

Lady Mary shook her head. 

“Oh, no,” she said faintly. “You are chasing 
shadows, Mr. Steele, almost as persistently as I have 


BLUE HAND 


117 


done. Now let me tell you something about myself/’ 
she said, ‘‘and I warn you that I am not going to 
elucidate the mystery of my disappearance—that can 
Wait. This building is mine,” she said. “I am the 
proprietor of the whole block. My husband bought it 
and in a moment of unexampled generosity presented 
it to me the day after its purchase. In fact, it was 
mine when it was supposed to be his. He was not a 
generous man,” she said sadly, “but I will not speak 
of his treatment of me. This property has provided 
me with an income ample for my needs and I have, 
too, a fortune which I inherited from my father. We 
were desperately poor when I married Mr. Danton,” 
she explained, “and only a week or two later my 
father’s cousin. Lord Pethingham, died, and father 
inherited a very large sum of money, the greater por¬ 
tion of which came to me.” 

“Who is Madge Benson?” he demanded. 

“Need you ask that?” she said. “She is my serv¬ 
ant.” 

“Why did she go to prison?” 

He saw the woman’s lips close tight. 

“You must promise not to ask questions about the 
past until I am ready to tell you, Mr. Steele,” she said, 
“and now I think you can see me home.” She looked 
round the office. “There are usually a dozen cable¬ 
grams to be seen and answered. A confidential clerk 
of mine comes in the morning to attend to the dispatch 
of wires which I leave for him. I have made myself 
a nuisance to every town clerk in the world, from 
Buenos Ayres to Shanghai,” she said w'ith a whimsical 
laugh in which there was a note of pain. “ ‘The 
-shadow he pursueth-’ You Igiow the old Biblical 


118 BLUE HAND 

lines, Mr. Steele, and I am so tired of my pursuit, so 
very tired T’ 

‘‘And is it ended now?^’ asked Jim. 

“Not yet,’’ said Lady Mary and suddenly her voice 
grew hard and determined. “No, we’ve still got a lot 

of work before us, Jim-” She used the word 

shyly and laughed like a child when she saw him color. 
“Even Eunice will not mind my calling you Jim,” she 
said, “and it is such a nice name, easily remembered, 
and it has the advantage of not being a popular nick¬ 
name for dogs and cats.” 

He was dying to ask her why, if she was so well off, 
she had taken up her residence in a little flat over¬ 
looking a railway line, and it was probable that had 
he asked her, he would have received an imsatisfactory 
reply. 

He took leave of her at her door. 

“Good-night, neighbor,” he smiled. 

“Good-night, Jim,” she said softly. 

And Jim was still sitting in his big armchair ponder¬ 
ing the events of the night when the first rays of the 
rising sun made a golden pattern upon the blind. 



CHAPTER TWENTY 


E arly the next morning a district messenger 
arrived at the flat with a letter from Eunice 
and he groaned before he opened it. 

She had written it in the hurt of her discovery and 
there were phrases which made him wince. 

‘T never dreamt it was you, and after all the pretence you 
made that this Blue Hand was a woman! It wasn’t fair of 
you, Jim. To secure a sensation you nearly frightened me 
to death on my first night here, and made me look ridiculous 
in order that I might fall into your waiting arms! I see 
it all now. You do not like Mr. Groat, and were determined 
that I should leave his house, and this is the method which 
you have followed. I shall find it very hard to forgive you 
and perhaps you had better not see me again until you hear 
from me.” 

^‘Oh, damn,’’ said Jim for the fortieth time since he 
had left her. 

What could he do? He wrote half-a-dozen letters 
and tore them all up, every one of themi into shreds. 
He could not explain to her how the key came into 
his possession without betraying Lady "Mary Danton’s 
secret. And now he would find it more difficult than 
ever to convince her that Digby Groat was an un¬ 
scrupulous villain. The position was hopeless and he 
groaned again. Then a thought struck him and he 
crossed the landing to the next flat. 


120 


BLUE HAND 


Madge Benson opened the door and this time re¬ 
garded him a little more favorably. 

^‘M’lady is asleep/^ she said. She knew that Jim 
was aware of Mrs. Fane’s identity. 

^^Do you think you could wake her? It is rather 
important.” 

will see,” said Madge Benson and disappeared 
into the bedroom. She returned in a few moments. 
‘‘Madame is awake. She heard your knock,” she said. 
“Will you go in?” 

Lady Mary was lying on the bed fully dressed, 
wrapped in a dressing-gown and she took the letter 
from Jim’s hand which he handed her without a word, 
and read. 

“Have patience,” she said as she handed it back. 
“She will understand in time.” 

“And in the meanwhile,” said Jimi, his heart heavy, 
“anything can happen to her! This is the very thing 
I didn’t want to occur.” 

“You went to the house. Did you discover any¬ 
thing?” 

He shook his head. 

“Take no notice and do not worry,” said Lady Mary 
settling down in the bed and closing her eyes, “and 
now please let me sleep, Mr. Steele—I have not been to 
bed for twenty-four hours.” 

Eimice had not dispatched the messenger with the 
letter to Jim five minutes before she regretted the im¬ 
pulse which had made her write it. She had said 
bitter things which she did not really feel. It was an 
escapade of his which ought to be forgiven, because at 
the back of it, she thought, was his love for her. She 


BLUE HAND 


121 


had further reason to doubt her wisdom, when, going 
to Digby Groat’s library she found him studying a 
large photograph. 

“That is very good, considering it was taken in 
artificial light,” he said. It was an enlarged photo¬ 
graph of his laboratory door bearing the blue imprint, 
and so carefully had the photographer done his work, 
that every line and whorl of the finger-tips showed. 

“It is a woman’s hand, of course,” he said. 

“A woman,” she gasped. “Are you sure?” 

He looked up in surprise. 

“Of course I’m sure,” said Digby, “look at the size 
of it. It is much too small for a man.” 

So she had wronged Jim cruelly! And yet what 
was he doing there in the house? How had he got in? 
The whole thing was so inexplicable that she gave it 
up, only—she must tell Jim and ask him to forgive her. 

As soon as she was free she went to the telephone. 
Jim was not in the office. 

“Who is it speaking?” asked the voice of the clerk. 

“Never mind,” said the girl hurriedly and hung up 
the receiver. 

All day long she was haunted by the thought of 
the injustice she had done the man she loved. He 
would send her a note, she thought, or would call her 
up, and at every ring of the telephone, the blood came 
into her face, only to recede when she heard the answer, 
and discovered the caller was some person in whom she 
had no interest. 

That day was one of the longest she had ever spent 
in her life. There was practically no work to do, and 
even the dubious entertainment of Digby was denied 


122 


BLUE HAND 


her. He went out in the morning and did not come 
back until late in the afternoon, going out again as 
soon as he had changed his clothes. 

She ate her dinner in solitude and was comforted by 
the thought that she would soon be free from this 
employment. She had written to her old employer 
and he had answered by return of post, saying how glad 
he would be if he could get her back. Then they could 
have their little tea-parties all over again, she thought, 
and Jim, free of this obsession about Digby Groat, 
would be his old cheerful self. 

The nurse was going out that evening and Mrs. 
Groat sent for her. She hated the girl, but she hated 
the thought of being alone much more. 

‘T want you to sit here with me until the nurse 
comes home,’’ she said. “You can take a book and 
read, but don’t fidget.” 

Eunice smiled to herself and went in search of a 
book. 

She came back in time to find Mrs. Groat hiding 
something beneath her pillow. They sat in silence for 
an hour, the old woman playing with her hands on her 
lap, her head sunk forward, deep in thought, the girl 
trying to read, and finding it very difficult. Jim’s 
face so constantly came between her and the printed 
page that she would have been glad for an excuse to 
put down the book, glad for any diversion. 

It was Mrs. Groat who provided her with an escape 
from her ennui. 

“Where did you get that scar on your wrist?” she 
asked, looking up. 

“I don’t know,” said Eunice. “I have had it ever 
since I was a baby. I think I must have been burnt.” 


BLUE HAND 


123 


, There was another long silence. 

“Where were you born?” 

“In South Africa,” said the girl. 

Again there was an interval, broken only by the 
creak of Mrs. Groat’s chair. 

In sheer desperation, for the situation was getting 
on her nerves, Eunice said: 

“I found an old miniature of yours the other day, 
Mrs. Groat.” 

The woman fixed her with her dark eyes. 

“Of me?” she said, and then, “oh, yes, I remember. 
Well? Did you think it looks like me?” she asked 
sourly. 

“I think it was probably like you years ago. I 
could trace a resemblance,” said Eunice diplomati¬ 
cally. 

The answer seemed to amuse Jane Groat. She had 
a mordant sense of humor, the girl was to discover. 

“Like me when I was like that, eh?” she said. 
“Do you think I was pretty?” 

Here Eunice could speak whole-heartedly and with¬ 
out evasion. 

“I think you were very beautiful,” she said warmly. 

“I was, too,” said the woman speaking half to her¬ 
self. “My father tried to bury me in a dead-and-alive 
village. He thought I was too attractive for town. 
A wicked, heartless brute of a man,” she said, and the 
girl was somewhat shocked. 

Apparently the old doctrine of filial piety did not 
run in Jane Groat’s family. 

“When I was a girl,” the old woman went on, “the 
head of the family was the family tyrant, and lived for 
the exercise of his power. My father hated me from 


124 


BLUE HAND 


the moment I was born and I hated him from the 
moment I began to think.’’ 

Eunice said nothing. She had not invited the con¬ 
fidence, nevertheless it fascinated her to hear this 
woman draw aside the veil which hid the past. What 
great tragedy had happened, she speculated, that had 
turned the beautiful original of the miniature into this 
hard and evil-looking woman? 

^‘Men would run after me. Miss Weldon,” she said 
with a curious complacence. ‘‘Men whose names are 
famous throughout the world.” 

The girl remembered the Marquis of Estremeda and 
wondered whether her generosity to him was due to 
the part he had played as a pursuing lover. 

“There was one man who loved me,” said the old 
woman reflectively, “but he didn’t love me well enough. 
He must have heard something, I suppose, because he 
was going to marry me and then he broke it off and 
married a simpering fool of a girl from Malaga.” 

She chuckled to herself. She had had no intention 
of discussing her private affairs with Eunice Weldon, 
but something had started her on a train of reminis¬ 
cence. Besides, she regarded Eunice already as an 
unofficial member of the family. Digby would tell her 
sooner or later. She might as well know from her, 
she thought. 

“He was a Marquis,” she went on, “a hard man, 
too, and he treated me badly. My father never for¬ 
gave me after I came back, and never spoke another 
word in his life, although he lived for nearly twenty 
years.” 

After she had come back, thought Eunice. Then 
she had gone away with this Marquis? The Marquis 


BLUE HAND 


125 


of Estremeda. And then he had deserted her, and 
had married this “simpering fool’’ from Malaga. 
Gradually the story was revealing itself before her 
eyes. 

“What happened to the girl?” she asked gently. 
She was almost afraid to speak unless she stopped the 
loquacious woman. 

“She died,” said Mrs. Groat with a thin smile. “He 
said I killed her. I only told her the truth. Besides, 
I owed him something,” she frowned, “I wish I hadn’t,” 
she muttered, “I wish I hadn’t. Sometimes the ghost 
of her comes into this room and looks down at me with 
her deep black eyes and tells me that I killed her!” 
She mumbled something and again with that note of 
complacency in her voice: “When she heard that my 

child was the son-” she stopped quickly and looked 

round. “What am I talking about?” she said gruffly. 

Eunice held her breath. Now she knew the secret 
of this strange household! Jim had told her something 
about it; told her of the little shipping clerk who had 
married Mrs. Groat, and for whom she had so pro¬ 
found a contempt. A shipping clerk from the old 
man’s office, whom he had paid to marry the girl that 
her shame should be hidden. 

Digby Groat was actually the son of—the Marquis 
of Estremeda! In law he was not even the heir to 
the Danton millions! 


CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 


E unice couM only stare at the old woman. 

‘^Get on with your book/’ grumbled Mrs. 
Groat pettishly, and the girl, looking up 
through her lashes, saw the suspicious eyes fixed on her 
and the tremulous mouth moving as though she were 
speaking. 

She must tell Jim. Despite her sense of loyalty, 
she realized that this was imperative. Jim was vitally 
interested in the disposal of the Danton estate, and he 
must know. 

Suddenly the old woman began speaking again. 
“What did I tell you just now?” she asked. 

“You were talking about your youth,” said the girl. 
“Did I say anything about—a man?” asked the old 
woman suspiciously. She had forgotten! Eunice 
forced the lie to her lips. 

“No,” she replied, so loudly that anybody but this 
muddled woman would have known she was not speak¬ 
ing the truth. 

“Be careful of my son,” said Mrs. Groat after a 
while. “Don’t cross him. He’s not a bad lad, not a 
bad lad,” she shook her head and glanced slyly at the 
girl. “He is like his father in many ways.” 

“Mr. Groat?” said Eunice and felt inexpressively 
mean at taking advantage of the woman’s infirmity, 
but she steeled her heart with the thought that Jim 
must benefit by her knowledge. 

126 


BLUE HAND 


127 


“Groat,” sneered the old wom^n contemptuously, 
“that worm. No—yes, of course he was Groat, who 
else could he be; who else?” she asked, her voice ris¬ 
ing wrathfully. 

There was a sound outside and she turned her head 
and listened. 

“You won’t leave me alone. Miss Weldon, until the 
nurse comes back, will you?” she whispered with 
pathetic eagerness. “You promise me that?” 

“Why, of course, I promise you,” said Eimice smil¬ 
ing, ‘‘that is why I am here, to keep you company.” 

The door handle turned, and the old woman watched 
it, fascinated. Eunice heard her audible gasp as Digby 
came in. He was in evening dress and smoking a 
cigarette through a long holder. 

He seemed for the moment taken aback by the sight 
of Eunice and then smiled. 

“Of course, it is the nurse’s night out, isn’t it? 
How are you feeling to-night, mother?” 

“Very well, my boy,” she quavered, “very well in¬ 
deed. Miss Weldon is keeping me company.” 

“Splendid,” said Digby. “I hope Miss Weldon 
hasn’t been making your flesh creep.” 

“Oh, no,” said the girl, shocked, “of course I haven’t. 
How could I?” 

“I was wondering whether you had been telling 
mother of our mysterious visitor,” he laughed as he 
pulled up an easy chair and sat down. “You don’t 
mind my smoke, mother, do you?” 

Eunice thought that even if old Jane Groat had ob¬ 
jected, it would not have niade the slightest differ¬ 
ence to her son, but the old woman shook her head and 
again turned her pleading eyes on Eunice. 


128 


BLUE HAND 


“I should like to catch that lady,” said Digby watch¬ 
ing a curl of smoke rise to the ceiling. 

‘^What lady, my boy?” asked Mrs. Groat. 

“The lady who has been wandering loose round this 
house at night, leaving her mark upon the panels of 
my door.” 

“A burglar,” said the old woman and did not seem 
greatly alarmed. 

Digby shook his head. 

“A woman and a criminal, I understand. She left 
a clear finger-print and Scotland Yard have had the 
photograph and have identified it with that of a woman 
who served a sentence in Holloway Gaol.” 

A slight noise attracted Eunice and she turned to 
look at Jane Groat. 

She was sitting bolt upright, her black eyes staring, 
her face working convulsively. 

“What woman?” she asked harshly. “What are 
you talking about?” 

Digby seemed as much surprised as the girl to dis¬ 
cover the effect the statement had made upon his 
mother. 

“The woman who has been getting into this house 
and making herself a confounded nuisance with her 
melodramatic signature.” 

“What do you mean?” asked Mrs. Groat with pain¬ 
ful slowness. 

“She has left the mark of a blue hand on my 
door-” 

Before he could finish the sentence his mother was 
on her feet, staring down at him with terror in her eyes. 

“A blue hand, a blue hand!” she cried wildly. 
“What was that woman’s namie?” 


BLUE HAND 129 

‘^According to the police report, Madge Benson,^’ 
said Digby. 

For a second she glared at him wildly. 

‘‘Blue hand, blue hand,’’ she mumbled and would 
have collapsed but for the fact that Eunice had recog¬ 
nized the symptoms and was by her side and took her 
in her strong young arms. 


) 


CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO 


UTSIDE the door in the darkened passage a 



man was listening attentively. He had trailed 


V_^ Digby Groat all that evening, and had fol¬ 
lowed him into the house. Hearing a movement of 
footsteps within, he slipped into a side passage and 
waited. Eunice flew past the entrance to the passage 
and Jim Steele thought it was time that he made a 
move. In a few minutes the house would be aroused, 
for he guessed that the old woman had collapsed. It 
was a desperate, mad enterprise of his, to enter the 
great household at so early an hour, but he had a par¬ 
ticular reason for wishing to discover the contents of 
a letter which he had seen slipped into Digby’s hand 
that night. 

Jim had been following him without success until 
Digby Groat had alighted at Piccadilly Circus appar¬ 
ently to buy a newspaper. Then a stranger had edged 
close to him and Jim had seen the quick passage of the 
white envelope. He meant to see that letter. 

He reached the ground floor in safety and hesitated. 
Should he go into the laboratory whither Digby was 

certain to come, or should he-? A hurried footstep 

on the stairs above decided him: he slipped through 
the door leading to Digby^s study. Hiding place there 
was none: he had observed the room when he had been 
in there a few days previously. He was safe so long 
as nobody came in and turned on the lights. Jim 



BLUE HAND 


131 


heard the footsteps pass the door, and pulled his soft 
felt hat farther over his eyes. The lower part of his 
face he had already concealed with a black silk hand¬ 
kerchief, and if the worst came to the worst, he could 
battle his way out and seek safety in flight. Nobody 
would recognize him in the old gray suit he wore, and 
the soft collarless shirt. It would not be a very noble 
end to the adventure, but it would be less ignominious 
than being exposed again to the scorn of Eunice. 

Suddenly his heart beat faster. Somebody was 
coming into the library. He saw the unknown open 
the door and he crouched down so that the big library 
table covered him from observation. Instantly the 
room was flooded with light; Jim could only see the 
legs of the intruder, and they were the legs of Digby 
Groat. Digby moved to the table, and Jim heard the 
tear of paper as an envelope was slit, and then an 
exclamation of anger from the man. 

^^Mr. Groat, please come quickly!’’ 

It was the voice of Eunice calling from the floor 
above, and Digby hurried out, leaving the door open. 
He was scarcely out of sight before Jim had risen; his 
first glance was at the table. The letter lay as Digby 
had thrown it down, and he thrust it into his pocket. 
In a second he was through the doorway and in the 
passage. Jackson was standing by the foot of the 
stairs looking up, and for a moment he did not see 
Jim; then, at the sight of the masked face, he opened 
his mouth to shout a warning, and at that instant Jim 
struck at him twice, and the man went down with a 
crash. 

^^What is that?” said Digby’s voice, but Jim was 
out of the house, the door slammed behind him, and 


132 


BLUE HAND 


was racing along the side-Walk toward Berkeley Square, 
before Digby Groat knew what had happened. He 
slackened his pace, turned sharp to the right, so that 
he came back on his track, and stopped under a street 
light to read the letter. 

Parts of its contents contained no information for 
him. But there was one line which interested him: 

“Steele is trailing you: we will fix him to-night.” 

He read the line again and smiled as he walked on 
at a more leisurely pace. 

Once or twice he thought he was being followed, and 
turned round, but saw nobody. As he strolled up 
Portland Place, deserted at this hour of the night, save 
for an occasional car, his suspicion that he was being 
followed was strengthened. Two men, walking one 
behind the other, and keeping close to the railings, 
were about twenty yards behind him. 

“I’ll give you a run for your money, my lads,” mut¬ 
tered Jim, and crossing Marylebone Road, he reached 
the loneliest part of London, the outer circle of Re¬ 
gent’s Park. And then he began to run: and Jim had 
taken both the sprint and the two-mile at the Varsity 
sports. He heard swift feet following and grinned 
to himself. Then came the noise of a taxi door 
shutting. They had picked up the “crawler” he had 
passed. 

“That is very unsporting,” said Jim, and turning, 
ran in the opposite direction. He went past the cab 
like a flash, and heard it stop and a loud voice order 
the taxi to turn, and he slackened his pace. He had 
already decided upon his plan of action—one so beauti- 


BLUE HAND 


133 


fully simple and so embarrassing to Digby Groat and 
his servitors, if his suspicions were confirmed, that it 
was worth the bluff. He had dropped to a walk at 
the sight of a policeman coming toward him. As the 
taxi came abreast he stepped into the roadway, gripped 
the handle of the door and jerked it open. 

*^Come out,” he said sternly. 

In the reflected light from the taximeter lantern he 
saw the damaged face of an old friend. 

‘‘Come out, Jackson, and explain just why youVe 
following me through the peaceful streets of this great 
city.” 

The man was loath to obey, but Jim gripped him by 
the waistcoat and dragged him out, to the taxi-driver’s 
astonishment. 

The second man was obviously a foreigner, a little 
dark, thin-faced man with a mahogany face, and they 
stood sheepishly regarding their quarry. 

“To-morrow you can go back to Mr. Digby Groat, 
and tell him that the next time he sets the members 
of the Thirteen Gang to trail me. I’ll come after him 
with enough evidence in each hand to leave him swing¬ 
ing in the brick-lined pit at Wandsworth. Do you 
understand that?” 

“I don’t know what you mean about to-morrow,” 
said the innocent Jackson in an aggrieved tone. “We 
could have the law on you for dragging us out of the 
cab.” 

“Try it, here comes a policemian,” said Jim. He 
gripped him by the collar and dragged him, toward the 
interested constable. “I think this man wants to 
make a charge against me.” 

“No, I don’t,” growled Jackson, terrified as to what 


134 


BLUE HAND 


his master would say when he heard of this undramatic 
end to the trailing of Jim. 

“Well, then, I make a charge against him.” 

It was the bluff that Jim had planned, a bluff which 
might very well come off. “I charge him with being 
in possession of weapons for the purpose of committing 
a felony. I further charge him under the Arms Act 
with having no license to carry firearms.” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 


HERE is little that is romantic about a Police 



Station, and Digby Groat, who came in a 


A towering rage to release his servants, was so 
furious that he could not even see the humorous side of 
the situation. 

Once outside the building he dismissed one, Antonio 
Fuentes, with a curse, and poured the vials of wrath 
upon the unhappy Jackson. 

‘^You fool, you blundering dolt,’^ he stormed. 
told you to keep the man in sight; Bronson would have 
carried out my orders without Steele knowing. Why 
the hell did you carry a revolver?’’ 

^‘How did I know he would play a dirty trick on me 
like that?” growled Jackson, ‘‘besides, I’ve never heard 
of the Firearms Act.” 

It was a stupid but a dangerous situation, thought 
Digby Groat, as he sat gnawing his nails in the library. 
It was an old theory of his that great schemes come to 
nought and great crimes are detected through some 
contemptible little slip on the part of the conspirators. 
What Jim had done in the simplest, easiest manner, was 
to set the police moving against the Thirteen, and to 
bring two of its members into the searching light of a 
magisterial enquiry. What was worse, he had associ¬ 
ated Digby Groat with the proceedings, though Digby 
had an excuse that Jackson was his valet, and as such, 
entitled to his interest. He had disclaimed all knowl- 


136 


BLUE HAND 


edge of Fuentes, but, as an act of generosity, as the 
Spaniard was a friend of his servant, had gone bail for 
him also. 

Had the Thirteen brought off a big coup, their tracks 
would have been so hidden, their preparations so elab¬ 
orated, that they would have defied detection. And 
here through a simple offense, which carried no more 
than a penalty of a five-pound fine, two of the members 
of the gang had come under police observation. Mad¬ 
men I 

It was a sleepless night for him—even his three 
hours was denied him. The doctor attending his 
mother did not leave until past three o^clock. 

‘‘It is not exactly a stroke, but I think a collapse due 
to some sudden shock.’’ 

“Probably you’re right,” said Digby. “But I 
thought it best to call you in. Do you think she will 
recover?” 

“Oh, yes. I should imagine she’ll be all right in the 
morning.” 

Digby nodded. He agreed with that conclusion, 
without being particularly pleased to hear it. 

Difficulties were increasing daily, it seemed; new ob¬ 
stacles were besetting the smooth path of his life, and 
he traced them one by one and reduced them to a single 
cause—Jim Steele. 

The next morning, after he had telephoned to a 
shady solicitor whom he knew, ordering him to defend 
the two men who were to be charged at Marylebone, 
with offences under the Firearms Act, he sent for 
Eunice Weldon. 

“Miss Weldon,” he said, “I am making changes in 
this house, and I thought of taking my mother to the 


BLUE HAND 


137 


country next week. The air here doesn’t seem to agree 
with her, and I despair of her getting better unless she 
has a radical change of environment.” 

She nodded gravely. 

‘T am afraid I shall not be able to accompany you, 
Mr. Groat.” 

He looked up at her sharply. 

‘‘What do you mean. Miss Weldon?” he asked. 

“There is not sufficient work for me to do here, and 
I have decided to return to my old employment,” she 
said. 

“I am sorry to hear that. Miss Weldon,” he said 
quietly, “but, of course, I will put no obstacle in your 
way. This has been a calamitous house recently, and 
your experience has not been an exceedingly happy 
one, and, therefore, I quite understand why you are 
anxious to leave us. I could have wished that you 
would have stayed with my mother until she was set¬ 
tled in my place in the country, but even on this point 
I will not press you.” 

She expected that he would have been annoyed, and 
his courtesy impressed her. 

“I shall not, of course, think of leaving until I have 
done all that I possibly can,” she hastened to add, as 
he expected her to do, “and really I have not been at 
all unhappy here, Mr. Groat.” 

“Mr. Steele doesn’t like me, does he?” he smiled, and 
he saw her stiffen. 

“Mr. Steele has no voice in my plans,” she said, 
“and I have not seen him for several days.” 

So there had been a quarrel, thought Digby, and de¬ 
cided that he must know a little more of this. He was 
I too wily to ask her point-blank, but the fact that they 


138 


BLUE HAND 


had not met on the previous day was known to him. 

Eunice was glad to get the interview over and to go 
up to Mrs. Groat, who had sent for her a little earlier. 

The old woman was in bed propped up with pillows, 
and apparently was her normal self again. 

“YouVe been a long time,” she grumbled. 

‘T had to see your son, Mrs. Groat,” said Eunice. 

The old woman muttered something under her 
breath. 

^‘Shut the door and lock it,” she said. ‘^Have you 
got your note-book?” 

Eunice pulled up a chair to the bedside, and won¬ 
dered what was the important epistle that Mrs. Groat 
had decided to dictate. Usually she hated writing 
letters except with her own hand, and the reason for 
her summons had taken the girl by surprise. 

‘T want you to write in my name to Mary Weather- 
wale. Write that down.” Old Mrs. Groat spelt the 
name. ‘The address is in Somerset—Hill Farm, 
Retherley, Somerset. Now say to her that I am very 
ill, and that I hope she will forgive our old quarrel 
and will come up and stay with me—underline that I 
am very ill,” said Jane Groat emphatically. “Tell her 
that I will pay her expenses and give her £5 a week. 
Is that too much?” she asked. “No, don’t put the 
salary at all. I’ll be bound she’ll come; they’re poorly 
off, the Weatherwales. Tell her she must come at 
once. Underline that, too.” 

The girl scribbled down her instructions. 

“Now listen. Miss Weldon.” Jane Groat lowered 
her voice. “You are to write this letter, and not to 
let my son know that you have done it: do you under- 


BLUE HAND 


139 


stand? Post it yourself; don't give it to that horrible 
Jackson. And again I tell you not to let my son 
know." 

Eunice wondered what was the reason for the mys¬ 
tery, but she carried out the old woman's instructions, 
and posted the letter without Digby's knowledge. 

There was no word from Jim, though she guessed 
he was the masked stranger who had knocked down 
Jackson in the hall. The strain of waiting was begin¬ 
ning to tell upon Eunice; she had grown oddly nervous, 
started at every sound, and it was this unusual exhibi¬ 
tion of nerves which had finally decided her to leave 
Grosvenor Square and return to the less exciting life 
at the photographic studio. 

Why didn't Jim write, she asked herself fretfully, 
and immediatedly after, relentless logic demanded of 
her why she did not write to Jim. 

She went for a walk in the park that afternoon hop¬ 
ing that she would see him, but although she sat for an 
hour under his favorite tree, he did not put in an ap¬ 
pearance and she went home depressed and angry with 
herself. 

A stamp upon a postcard would have brought him, 
but that postcard she would not write. 

The next day brought Mrs. Mary Weatherwale, a 
stout, cheery woman of sixty, with a rosy apple face. 
She came in a four-wheeled cab, depositing her luggage 
in the hall, and greeted Eunice like an old friend. 

“How is she, my darling?" (“Darling" was a 
favorite word of hers, Eunice discovered with amuse¬ 
ment.) “Poor old Jane, I haven't seen her for years 
and years. We used to be good friends once, you 


140 


BLUE HAND 


A 


know, very good friends, but she—but there, let by¬ 
gones be bygones, darling; show me to her room, will 
you?^’ 

It required all the cheerfulness of Mrs. Weatherwale 
to disguise her shock at the appearance of her one time 
friend. 

“Why, Jane,” she said, “what^s the matter with 
you?” 

“Sit down, Mary,” said the other pettishly. “All 
right, young lady, you needn’t wait.” 

This ungrateful dismissal was addressed to Eunice, 
who was very glad to make her escape. She was pass¬ 
ing through the hall later in the afternoon, when Digby 
Groat came in. He looked at the luggage, which had 
not been removed from the hall, and turned with a 
frown to Eunice. 

“What is the meaning of this?” he asked. “To 
whom does this belong?” 

“A friend of Mrs. Groat is coming to stay,” said 
Eunice. 

“A friend of mother’s?” he answered quickly. “Do 
you know her name?” 

“Mrs. Weatherwale.” 

She saw an instant change come over his face. 

“Mrs. Weatherwale, eh,” he said slowly. “Coming 
to stay here? At my mother’s invitation, I suppose.” 
He stripped his gloves and flung them on to the hall 
table and went up the stairs two at a time. 

What happened in the sick room Eunice could only 
guess. The first intimation she had that all was not 
well was the appearance of Mrs. Weatherwale strutting 
down the stairs, her face as red as a turkey-cock, her 


BLUE HAND 141 

bead bonnet trembling with anger. She caught sight 
of Eunice and beckoned her. 

^^Get somebody to find a cab for me, my darling,” 
she said. “I’m going back to Somerset. I’ve been 
thrown out, my darling! What do you think of that? 
A woman of my age and my respectability; thrown out 
by a dirty little devil of a boy that I wouldn’t harbor 
in my cow yard.” She was choleric and her voice was 
trembling with righteous rage. “I’m talking about 
you,” she said raising her voice, and addressing some¬ 
body, apparently Digby, who was out of sight of 
Eunice. “You always were a cruel little beast, and if 
anything happens to your mother, I’m going to the 
police.” 

“You had better get out before I send for a police¬ 
man,” said Digby’s growling voice. 

“I know you,” she shook her fist at her invisible 
enemy. “I’ve known you for twenty-three years, my 
boy, and a more cruel and nastier man never lived!” ^ 

Digby came slowly down the stairs, a smile on his 
face. 

“Really, Mrs. Weatherwale,” he said, “you are 
unreasonable. I simply do not want my mother to 
be associated with the kind of people she chose as her 
friends when she was a girl. I can’t be responsible 
for her vulgar tastes then; I certainly am responsible 
now.” 

The rosy face of the woman flushed an even deeper 
red. 

“Common! Vulgar!” she spluttered. “You say 
that? You dirty little foreigner. Ah! That got 
home. I know your secret, Mr. Digby Groat!” 


142 


BLUE HAND 


If eyes could kill, she would have died at that mo¬ 
ment. He turned at the foot of the stairs and walked 
into his study, and slammed the door behind him. 

^Whenever you want to know anything about that!” 
•—Mrs. Weatherwale pointed at the closed door—“send 
for me. IVe got letters from his mother about him 
when he was a child of so high, that would make your 
hair stand on ends, darling.” 

When at last a cab bore the indignant lady from 
Grosvenor Square, Eunice breathed a sigh of relief. 
One more family skeleton, she thought, but she had 
already inspected the grisly bones. She would not 
be sorry to follow in Mrs. Weatherwale’s footsteps, 
though, unknown to her, Digby Groat had other plans. 

Those plans were maturing, when he heard a sharp 
rat-tat at the door and come out into the hall. 

“Was that a telegram for me?” he asked. 

“No, for me,” said Eunice, and there was no need 
to ask whom that message was from; her shining eyes, 
her flushed face, told their own story. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR 


‘‘ XIMI” 

I Eunice came running across the grass with 

v outstretched hands, oblivious to the fact that 
it was broad daylight and that she was being watched 
by at least a hundred idle loungers in the park. 

Jim took both her hands in his and she experienced 
a moment of serene comfort. Then they both talked 
at once; they were both apologetic, interrupting one 
another’s explanations with the expression of their own 
contrition. 

“Jim, I’m going to leave Mrs. Groat’s house,” she 
said when they had reached sanity. 

“Thank God for that,” said Jim. 

“You are so solemn about it,” she laughed. “Did 
you really think I was in any danger there?” 

“I know you were,” he said. 

She had so much to tell him that she did not know 
where to begin. 

“Were you sorry not to see me?” 

“The days I have not seen you are dead, and wiped 
off the calendar,” said Jim. 

“Oh, before I forget,” said Eunice, “Mrs. Weather- 
wale has gone.” 

“Mrs. Weatherwale!” he repeated, puzzled. 

“I haven’t told you? No, of course not, I did not 
see you yesterday. But Mrs. Groat asked me to write 
to Mrs. Weatherwale, who is an old friend of hers, 
143 


144 BLUE HAND 

asking her to come and stay. I think Mrs. Groat is 
rather afraid of Digby.’’ 

“And she came?” asked Jim. 

The girl nodded. 

“She came and stayed about one hour, then arrived 
my lord Digby, who bundled her unceremoniously into 
the street. There is no love lost there, either, Jim. 
The dear old lady hated him. She was a charming 
old soul and called me ‘darling.’ ” 

!‘Who wouldn’t?” said Jim. “I can call you darling 
even though I am not a charming old soul. Go on. 
So she went away? I wonder what she knows about 
Digby?” 

“She knows everything. She knows about Estre- 
meda, of that I am sure. Jim, doesn’t that make a 
difference?” 

He shook his head. 

“If you mean does it make any difference about 
Digby inheriting his mother’s money when she gets it, 
I can tell you that it makes none. The will does not 
specify that he is the son of John Groat, and the fact 
that he was born before she married this unfortunate 
shipping clerk does not affect the issue.” 

“When is the money to be made over to the Groats?” 

“Next Thursday,”’ said Jim, with a groan, “and I am 
just as far from stopping the transfer of the property 
as I have ever been.” 

He had not told her of his meeting with Lady Mary 
Danton. That was not his secret alone. Nor could 
he tell her that Lady Mary was the woman who had 
warned her. 

They strolled across the Park towards the Serpen¬ 
tine and Jim was unusually preoccupied. 


BLUE HAND 


145 


“Do you know, Eunice, that I have an uncanny 
feeling that you really are in some way associated with 
the Dan ton fortune?’^ 

She laughed and clung tighter to his arm. 

“Jim, you would make me Queen of England if you 
could,’^ she said, “and you have just as much chance 
of raising me to the throne as you have of proving 
that I am somebody else’s child. I don’t want to be 
anybody else’s really,” she said. “I was very, very 
fond of my mother and it nearly broke my heart when 
she died. And daddy was a darling.” 

He nodded. 

“Of course, it is a fantastic idea,” he said, “and I 
am flying in face of all the facts. I have taken 
the trouble to discover where you were born. I 
have a friend in Cape Town who made the inquiries 
for me.” 

“Eunice May Weldon,” she laughed. “So you can 
abandon that idea, can’t you?” she said. 

Strolling along by the side of the Serpentine they 
had reached the bridge near the magazine and were 
standing waiting until a car had passed before they 
crossed the road. Somebody in the car raised his hat. 

“Who was that?” said Jim. 

“Digby Groat,” she smiled, “my nearly late em¬ 
ployer! Don’t let us go to the tea-shop, Jim,” she 
said, “let us go to your flat—I’d love to.” 

He looked at her dubiously. 

“It is not customary for bachelors to give tea-parties 
to young females,” he said. 

“I’m sure it is,” she waved aside his objection. 
“I’m perfectly certain it happens every day only they 
don’t speak about it.” 


146 


BLUE HAND 


The flat delighted her and she took off her coat and 
busied herself in the little kitchenette. 

^‘You told me it was an attic with bare boards/’ she 
said reproachfully as she was laying the cloth. 

To Jim, stretched in his big chair, she was a thing 
of sheer delight. He wanted no more than to sit for 
ever and watch her flitting from room to room. The 
sound of her fresh voice was a delicious narcotic, and 
even when she called him, as she did, again and again, 
to explain some curio of his which hung in the hall, 
the spell was not broken. 

“Everything is speckless,” she said as she brought in 
the tea, “and I’m sure you haven’t polished up those 
brasses and cleaned that china.” 

“You’re right first time,” said Jim lazily. “An un¬ 
prepossessing lady comes in every morning at half-past 
seven and works her fingers to the bone, as she has told 
me more times than once, though she manages to keep 
more flesh on those bones than seems comfortable for 
her.” 

“And there is your famous train,” she said jumping 
up and going to the window as an express whizzed 
down the declivity. “Oh, Jim, look at those boys,” she 
gasped in horror. 

Across the line and supported by two stout poles, 
one of which stood in the courtyard of the flat, was a 
stretch of thin telegraph wires, and on these a small 
and adventurous urchin was pulling himself across 
hand-over-hand, to the joy of his companions seated 
on the opposite wall of the cutting. 

“The young devil,” said Jim admiringly. 

Another train shrieked past, and running down into 
Euston trains moved at a good speed. The telegraph 


BLUE HAND 


147 


wire had sagged under the weight of the boy to such an 
extent that he had to lift his legs to avoid touching the 
tops of the carriages. 

‘^If the police catch him/^ mused Jim, “they will fine 
him a sovereign and give him a birching. In reality 
he ought to be given a medal. These little beggars are 
the soldiers of the future, Eunice, and some day he 
will reproduce that fearlessness of danger, and he will 
earn the Victoria Cross a jolly sight more than I 
earned it.” 

She laughed and dropped her head against his shoul¬ 
der. 

“You queer man,” she said, and then returned to 
the contemplation of the young climber, who had now 
reached the opposite wall amidst the approving yells 
and shouts of his diminutive comrades. 

“Now let us drink our tea, because I must get back,” 
said the girl. 

The cup was at her lips when the door opened and 
a woman came in. Eunice did not hear the turning of 
the handle and her first intimation of the stranger’s 
presence was the word “Jim.” She looked up. The 
woman in the doorway was, by all standards, beauti¬ 
ful, she noticed with a pang. Age had not lined or 
marred the beauty of her face and the strands of gray 
in her hair added to her attraction. For a moment 
they looked at one another, the woman and the girl, 
and then the intruder with a nod and a smile, said: 

“I will see you again. I am sorry,” and went out 
closing the door behind her. 

The silence that followed was painful. Jim started 
three times to speak, but stopped as he realized the 
futility of explaining to the girl the reason of the 


148 BLUE HAND 

woman’s presence. He could not tell her she was Lady 
Mary Danton. 

‘^She called you ^Jirriy^ ” said the girl slowly. 
she a friend of yours?” 

‘‘Er—^yes,” he replied awkwardly. ‘^She is Mrs. 
Fane, a neighbor.” 

“Mrs. Fane,” repeated the girl, “but you told me 
she was paralyzed and could not get up. You said 
she had never been out of doors for years.” 

Jim swallowed something. 

“She called you ” said the girl again. “Are 
you very great friends?” 

“Well, we are rather,” said Jim huskily. “The 
fact is, Eunice-” 

“How did she come in?” asked the girl with a frown. 
“She must have let herself in with a key. Has she a 
key of your flat?” 

Jim gulped. 

“Well, as a matter of fact-” he began. 

“Has she, Jim?” 

“Yes, she has. I can’t explain, Eunice, but you’ve 
got-” 

“I see,” she said quietly. “She is very pretty, isn’t 
she?” 

“Yes, she is rather pretty,” admitted Jim miserably. 
“You see, we have business transactions together, and 
frequently I am out and she wants to get to my tele¬ 
phone. She has no telephone in her own flat, you see, 
Eunice,” he went on lamely. 

“I see,” said the girl, “and she calls you ‘J™’?” 
“Because we are good friends,” he floundered. 
“Really, Eunice, I hope you are not putting any mis¬ 
construction upon that incident.” 



BLUE HAND 


U. 

She heaved a little sigh. 

“I suppose it is all right, Jim,’’ she said, and pushed 
away her plate. ‘‘I don’t think I’ll wait any longer. 
Please don’t come back with me, I’d rather you didn’t. 
I can get a cab, there’s a rank opposite the flat, I re¬ 
member.” 

Jim cursed the accident which had brought the lady 
into his room at that moment and cursed himself that 
he had not made a clean breast of the whole thing, even 
at the risk of betraying Lady Mary. 

He had done sufficient harm by his incoherent ex¬ 
planation and he offered no other as he helped the girl 
into her coat. 

‘‘You are sure you’d rather go alone?” he said 
miserably. 

She nodded. 

They were standing on the landing. Lady Mary’s 
front door was ajar and from within came the shrill 
ring of a telephone bell. She raised her grave eyes to 
Jim. 

“Your friend has the key of*your flat because she 
has no telephone of her own, didn’t you say, Jim?” 

He made no reply. 

“I never thought you would lie to me,” she said, and 
he watched her disappear down the staircase with an 
aching heart. 

He had hardly reached his room and flung himself 
in his chair by the side of the tea-table, when Lady 
Mary followed him into the room. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I hadn’t the slightest idea she 
would be here.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” said Jim with a wan smile, 
“only it makes things rather awkward for me. I told 


^0 


BLUE HAND 


her a lie and she found me out, or rather, your infernal 
telephone did. Lady Mary.” 

‘‘Then you were stupid,” was all the comfort she 
gave him. 

“Why didn’t you stay?” he asked. “That made it 
look so queer.” 

“There were many reasons why I couldn’t stay,” said 
Lady Mary. “Jim, do you remember the enquiries I 
made about this very girl, Eunice Weldon, and which 
you made, too?” 

He nodded. 

He wasn’t interested in Eunice Weldon’s obvious 
parentage at that moment. 

“You remember she was born at Rondebosch?” 

“Yes,” he said listlessly. “Even she admits it,” he 
added with a feeble attempt at a jest. 

“Does she admit this?” asked Lady Mary. She 
pushed a telegram across the table to Jim, and he 
picked it up and read: 

“Eunice May Weldon died in Cape Town at the age of 
twelve months and three days, and is buried at Rosebank 
Cemetery. Plot No. 7963.’* 


CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE 


J IM read the cablegram again, scarcely believing his 
eyes or his understanding. 

‘‘Buried at the age of twelve months,” he said 
incredulously, “but how absurd. She is here, alive, 
besides which, I recently met a man who knew the 
Weldons and remembered Eunice as a child. There is 
no question of substitution.” 

“It is puzzling, isn’t it?” said Lady Mary softly, as 
she put the telegram in her bag. “But here is a very 
important fact. The man who sent me this cablegram 
is one of the most reliable private detectives in South 
Africa.” 

Eunice Weldon was born, Eunice Weldon had died, 
and yet Eunice Weldon was very much alive at that 
moment, though she was wishing she were dead. 

Jim leant his elbow on the table and rested his chin 
on his palm. 

“I must confess that I am now completely rattled,” 
he said. “Then if the girl died, it is obvious the 
parents adopted another girl and that girl was Eunice. 
The question is where did she come from, because there 
was never any question of her adoption, so far as she 
knew.” 

She nodded. 

“I have already cabled to my agent to ask him to 
inquire on this question of adoption,” she said, “and 
in the meantime the old idea is gaining ground, Jim.” 
iSi 


152 


BLUE HAND 


His eyes met hers. 

“You mean that Eunice is your daughter?’^ 

She nodded slowly. 

“That circular scar on her wrist? You know noth¬ 
ing about it?^^ 

She shook her head. 

“It may have been done after-she faltered, 

“after—I lost sight of her.” 

“Lady Mary, will you explain how you came to lose 
sight of her?” asked Jim. 

She shook her head. 

“Not yet,” she said. 

“Then perhaps you will answer another question. 
You know Mrs. Groat?” 

She nodded. 

“Do you know a woman named Weatherwale?” 

Lady Mary’s eyes opened. 

“Mary Weatherwale, yes. She was a farmer’s 
daughter who was very fond of Jane, a nice, decent 
woman. I often wondered how Jane came to make 
such a friend. Why do you ask?” 

Jim told her what had happened when Mrs. Weather¬ 
wale had arrived at Grosvenor Square. 

“Let us put as many of our cards on the table as are 
not too stale to exhibit,” she said. “Do you believe 
that Jane Groat had some part in the disappearance of 
my daughter?” 

“Honestly I do,” said Jim. “Don’t you?” 

She shook her head. 

“I used to think so,” she said quietly, “but when I 
made inquiries, she was exonerated beyond question. 
She is a wicked woman, as wicked as any that has 



BLUE HAND 


153 


ever been bom,” she said with a sudden fire that sent 
the color flying to her face, ‘‘but she was not so wicked 
that she was responsible for little Dorothy’s fate.” 

“You will not tell me any more about her?” 

She shook her head. 

“There is something you could say which might 
make my investigation a little easier,” said Jim. 

“There is nothing I can say—^yet,” she said in a low 
voice, as she rose, and without a word of farewell, 
glided from the room. 

Jinx’s mind was made up. In the light of that ex¬ 
traordinary cablegram from South Africa, his misun¬ 
derstanding with Eunice faded into insignificance. If 
she were Lady Mary’s daughter 1 He gasped at the 
thought which, with all its consequences, came as a 
new possibility, even though he had pondered it in his 
mind. 

He fixed upon Jane Groat as one who could supply 
the key of the mystery, but every attempt he had made 
to get the particulars of her past had been frustrated 
by ignorance, or the unwillingness of all who had 
known her in her early days. 

There was little chance of seeing Septimus Salter in 
his office, so he went round to the garage where he 
housed his little car, and set forth on a voyage of dis¬ 
covery to Chislehurst, where Mr. Salter lived. 

The old gentleman was alone; his wife and his eldest 
son, an officer, who was staying with him, had gone to 
Harrogate, and ^e was more genial in his reception 
than Jim had a right to expect. 

“You’ll stay to dinner, of course,” he said. 

Jim shook his head. 


154 


BLUE HAND 


“No, thank you, sir, I’m feeling rather anxious just 
now. I came to ask you if you knew Mrs. Weather- 
wale/’ 

The lawyer frowned. 

“Weatherwale, Weatherwale,” he mused, ‘‘yes, I 
remember the name. I seldom forget a name. She 
appears in Mrs. Groat’s will, I think, as a legatee for a 
few hundred pounds. Her father was one of old Dan- 
ton’s tenants.” 

“That is the womian,” said Jim, and told his em¬ 
ployer all that he had learnt about Mrs. Weatherwale’s 
ill-fated visit to London. 

“It only shows,” said the lawyer when he had fin¬ 
ished, “how the terrific secrets which we lawyers think 
are locked away in steel boxes and stowed below the 
ground in musty cellars, are the property of Tom, 
Dick and Harry! We might as well save ourselves all 
the trouble. Estremeda is, of course, the Spanish Mar¬ 
quis who practically lived with the Dantons when Jane 
was a young woman. He is, as obviously, the father 
of Digby Groat, and the result of this woman’s mad 
passion for the Spaniard. I knew there was some sort 
of scandal attached to her name, but this explains why 
her father would never speak to her, and why he cut 
her out of his will. I’m quite sure that Jonathan 
Danton knew nothing whatever about his sister’s esca¬ 
pade; or he would not have left her his money. He 
was as strait-laced as any of the Dantons, but thanks 
to his father’s reticence, it would seem that Mrs. Groat 
is going to benefit.” 

“And the son?” said Jim, and the lawyer nodded. 

“She may leave her money where she wishes—to 
anybody’s son, for the matter of that,” said the law- 


BLUE HAND 155 

yer. “A curious case, a very curious case,” he shook 
his gray head. ^‘What do you intend doing?” 

‘‘I am going down to Somerset to see Mrs. Weather- 
wale,” said Jim. “She may give us a string which will 
lead somewhere.” 

“If she’ll give you a string that will lead Mr. Digby 
Groat to prison,” growled the old lawyer, “get hold of 
it, Steele, and pull like the devil 1” 


CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX 


W HEN his alarm clock turned him out at six in 
the morning, Jim was both sleepy and inclined 
to be pessimistic. But as his mind cleared 
and he realized what results the day’s investigations 
might bring, he faced his journey with a lighter heart. 

Catching the seven o’clock from Paddington he 
reached the nearest station to Mrs. Weatherwale’s resi¬ 
dence soon after nine. He had not taken any break¬ 
fast, and he delayed his journey for half-an-hour, 
whilst the hostess of a small inn facing the station 
prepared him the meal without which no Englishman 
could live, as she humorously described it, a dish of 
eggs and bacon. 

It seemed as though he were in another world to that 
which he had left behind at Paddington. The trees 
were a little greener, the lush grasses of the meadows 
were a more vivid emerald and overhead in the blue 
sky defying sight, a skylark trilled passionately and 
was answered somewhere from the ground. Tiny 
furry shapes in their bright spring coats darted across 
the white roadway almost under his feet. He crossed 
a crumbling stone bridge and paused to look down into 
the shallow racing stream that foamed and bubbled 
and swirled on its way to the distant sea. 

The old masons who had dressed these powdery 
ashlars and laid the moss green stones of the buttresses, 
were dead when burly Henry lorded it at Westminster. 

IS6 


BLUE HAND 


157 


These stones had seen the epochs pass, and the maidens 
who had leant against the parapet listening with down¬ 
cast eyes to their young swains had become old women 
and dust and forgotten. 

Jim heaved a sigh as he resumed his trudge. Life 
would not be long enough for him, if Eunice . . .if! 

He shook the thought from him and climbed steadily 
to his destination. 

Hill Farm was a small house standing in about three 
acres of land, devoted mainly to market garden. 
There was no Mr. Weatherwale. He had been dead 
for twelve years, Jim learnt at the inn, but the old lady 
had a son who assisted in the management of the farm. 

Jim strode out to what was to prove a pleasant walk 
through the glories of a Somerset countryside, and he 
found Mrs. Weatherwale in the act of butter-making. 
She had a pasture and a dozen cows, as she informed 
him later. 

‘T don’t want to talk about Jane Groat,” she said 
decisively, when he broached the object of his visit. 
“I’ll never forgive that boy of hers for the trouble he 
gave me, apart from the insult. I gave up my work 
and had to hire a woman to take charge here and look 
after the boy—there’s my fare to London-” 

“I daresay all that could be arranged, Mrs. Weather¬ 
wale,” said Jim with a laugh. “Mr. Digby Groat will 
certainly repay you.” 

“Are you a friend of his?” she asked suspiciously, 
“because if you are-” 

“I am not a friend of his,” said Jim. “On the con¬ 
trary, I dislike him probably as much as you do.” 

“That is not possible,” she said, “for I would as soon 
see the devil as that yellow-faced monkey.” 




158 


BLUE HAND 


She wiped her hands on her apron and led the way 
to the sunny little parlor. 

“Sit ye down, Mr. What-you-may-call-it,” she said 
briskly. 

“Steele,” murmured Jim. 

“Mr. Steele, is it? Just sit down there, will you?” 
She indicated a window-seat covered with bright chintz. 
“Now tell me just what you want to know.” 

“I want to know something about Jane Groat’s 
youth, who were her friends, and what you know about 
Digby Groat?” 

Mrs. Weatherwale shook her head. 

“I can’t tell you much about that, sir,” she said. 
“Her father was old Danton who owned Kennett Hall. 
You can see it from here,” she pointed across the coun¬ 
try to a gray mass of buildings that showed above the 
hill-crest. ' 

“Jane frequently came over to the farm. My father 
had a bigger one in those days. All Hollyhock Hill 
belonged to him, but he lost his money through horses, 
drat them!” she said good-humoredly and apparently 
had no particular grievance against the thoroughbred 
race horse. 

“And we got quite friendly. It was unusual I admit, 
she being a lady of quality and me being a farmer’s 
daughter, but lord! I’ve got stacks of letters from her, 
or rather, I had. I burnt them this morning.” 

“You’ve burnt them?” said Jim in dismay. “I was 
hoping that I should find something I wanted to know 
from those.” 

She shook her head. 

“There’s nothing there you would find, except a lot 


BLUE HAND 159 

of silly nonsense about a man she fell in love with, a 
Spanish man.’’ 

“The Marquis of Estremeda?” suggested Jim. 

She closed her lips. 

“Maybe it was and maybe it wasn’t,” she said. “I’m 
not going to scandalize at my time of life, and at her 
time of life, too. We’ve all made mistakes in our time, 
and I daresay you’ll make yours, if you haven’t made 
them already. Which reminds me, Mr.-I don’t re¬ 

member your name?” 

“Steele,” said Jim patiently. 

“Well, that reminds me there’s a duck of a girl in that 
house. How Jane can allow a beautiful creature like 
that to come into contact with a beast like Digby, I 
don’t know. But that is all by-the-way. No, I burnt 
the letters, except a few. I kept one or two to prove 
that a boy doesn’t change his character when he grows 
up. Why, it may be,” she said good-humoredly, 
“when Digby is hanged the newspaper reporters would 
like to see these and they will be worth money to 
me!” 

Jim laughed. Her good humor was infectious and 
when after an absence of five minutes she returned to 
the room with a small box covered with faded green 
plush, he asked: 

“You know nothing of Digby Groat’s recent life?” 

She shook her head. 

“I only knew him as a boy, and a wicked little devil 
he was, the sort of boy who would pull a fly’s wings 
off for the sport of it. I used to think those stories 
about boys were lies, but it was true about him. Do 
you know what his chief delight was as a boy?” 



160 


BLUE HAND 


“No, I don’t,” smiled Jim. “It was something un¬ 
pleasant I am sure.” 

“To come on a Friday afternoon to Farmer John¬ 
son’s and see the pigs killed for market,” she said 
grimly. “That’s the sort of boy he was.” 

She took out a bundle of faded letters and fixing her 
large steel-rimmed spectacles, read them over. 

“Here’s one,” she said, “that will show you the kind 
of kid he was.” 

“I flogged Digby to-day. He tied a bunch of crackers 
round the kitten’s neck and let them off. The poor little 
creature had to be killed.” 

“That’s Digby,” said Mrs. Weatherwale, looking 
over her glasses. “There isn’t a letter here which 
doesn’t say that she had to beat him for something or 
other,” she read on, reading half to herself, and Jim 
heard the word “baby.” 

“What baby was that?” 

She looked at him. 

“It wasn’t her baby,” she said. 

“But whose was it?” insisted Jim. 

“It was a baby she was looking after.’^ 

“Her sister-in-law’s?” demanded Jim. 

The woman nodded. 

“Yes, Lady Mary Danton’s, poor little soul—^he did 
a cruel thing to her, too.” 

Jim dare not speak, and without encouragement Mrs. 
Weatherwale said: 

“Listen to this, if you want to understand the kind 
of little devil Digby was.” 


BLUE HAND 


161 


“I had to give Digby a severe flogging to-day. Really, 
the child is naturally cruel. What do you imagine he did? 
He took a sixpence, heated it in the fire and put it on the 
poor baby’s wrist. It left a circular bum.” 

‘‘Great God!” said Jim springing to his feet, his 
face white. “A circular burn on the wrist?” 

She looked at him in astonishment. 

“Yes, why?” 

So that was the explanation, and the heiress to the 
Danton millions was not Digby Groat or his mother, 
but the girl who was called Eunice Weldon, or, as the 
world would know her, Dorothy Danton! 


CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN 


E unice was Lady Mary’s daughter! There 
was no doubt of it, no possible doubt. His 
instinct had proved to be right. How had she 
got to South Africa? He had yet to find a solution to 
the mystery. 

Mrs. Weatherwale’s rosy face was a picture of aston¬ 
ishment. For a moment she thought her visitor had 
gone mad. 

^Will you read that piece again about Digby Groat 
burning the baby’s wrist,” said Jim slowly, and after 
a troubled glance at him, she complied. 

“The little baby was lost soon after,” she explained. 
“It went out with a nurse; one of Jane’s girls took 
it out in a boat, and the boat must have been run down 
by some ship.” 

And then a light dawned upon Jim. 

What ships passed to the East of the Goodwins (for 
it was near there that the disaster must have occurred) 
on the day of the tragedy? He must find it out im¬ 
mediately and he must take the letter from Jane to 
her friend in order to place it before Septimus Salter. 
Here, however, the woman demurred, and Jim, sitting 
down again, told her plainly and frankly, all his fears 
and suspicions. 

“What, that beautiful girl I saw in Jane’s house?” 
said Mrs. Weatherwale in amazement. “You don’t 
tell me!” 


162 


BLUE HAND 


163 


do,” said Jim. '‘She has the mark on her wrist, 
a burn, and now I remember! Mrs. Groat knows she 
is the daughter of Lady Mary, too! It was the sight 
of that scar which brought about her stroke.” 

“I don’t want any harm to happen to Jane, she 
hasn’t been a bad friend of mine, but it seems to me 
only justice to the young lady that she should have the 
letter. As a matter of fact I nearly burnt it.” 

“Thank God you didn’t,” said Jim fervently. 

He carried his prize back by the first train that left 
for London and dashed into Salter’s office with his 
news. 

“If your theory is correct,” said the old man when 
he had finished, “there ought not to be any difficulty 
in discovering the link between the child’s disappear¬ 
ance and her remarkable appearance in Cape Town as 
Eunice Weldon. We have had confirmation from 
South Africa that Eunice Weldon did die at this tender 
age, so, therefore, your Eunice can not be the same girl. 
I should advise you to get busy, because the day after 
to-morrow I hand over the Danton estate to Mrs. 
Groat’s new lawyers, and from what I can see of 
things,” said Mr. Salter grimly, “it is Digby Groat’s 
intention to sell immediately the whole of the Danton 
property.” 

“Does that amount to much?” 

“It represents more than three quarters of the 
estate,” said the lawyer to Jim’s surprise. “The Lake¬ 
side properties are worth four hundred thousand 
pounds, they include about twenty-four homesteads 
and six fairly big farms. You remember he came here 
some time ago, to question us as to whether he had the 
right of sale. I had a talk with Bennetts, they are 


164 


BLUE HAND 


his new solicitors, only this morning,’^ Mr. Salter went 
on stroking his big chin thoughtfully, “and it is pretty 
clear that Digby intends selling out. He showed 
Bennett the Power of Attorney which his mother gave 
him this morning.” 

The lawyer was faithfully interpreting Digby GroaPs 
intentions. The will which Eunice had found had 
shocked him. He was determined that he should not 
be at the mercy of a capricious old woman who he 
knew disliked him as intensely as he hated her, and he 
had induced his mother to change her lawyers, not so 
much because he had any prejudice against Salter, but 
because he needed a new solicitor who would carry 
through the instructions which Salter would question. 

Digby was determined to turn the lands and revenues 
of the Danton Estate into solid cash—cash which he 
could handle, and once it was in his bank he would 
breathe more freely. 

That was the secret of his business in the city, the 
formation of a syndicate to take over the Danton 
properties on a cash basis, and he had so well succeeded 
in interesting several wealthy financiers in the scheme, 
that it wanted but the stroke of a pen to complete the 
deal. 

“Aren’t there sufficient facts now,” asked Jim, “to 
prove that Eunice is Lady Mary’s daughter?” 

Salter shook his head. 

“No,” he said, “you must get a closer connection 
of evidence. But as I say it should not be very diffi¬ 
cult for you to do that. You know the date the child 
disappeared. It was on the 21st June, 1901. To re¬ 
fresh your memory I would remark that it was in that 
year ^e Boer War was being fought out.” 


BLUE HAND 


165 


Jim’s first call was at the Union African Steamship 
Company, and he made that just when the office was 
closing. 

Fortunately the assistant manager was there, took 
him into the office and made a search of his records. 

“None of our ships left London River on the 20th 
or 21st June,” he said, “and, anyway, only our inter¬ 
mediate boats sail from there. The mail steamers sail 
from Southampton. The last ship to pass Southampton 
was the Central Castle, She was carrying troops to 
South Africa and she called at Plymouth on the 20th, 
so she must have passed Margate three days before.” 

“What other lines of steamers run to South Africa?” 

The manager gave him a list, and it was a longer 
one than Jim had expected. 

He hurried home to break the news to Lady Mary, 
but she was out. Her maid, the mysterious Madge 
Benson, said she had left and did not expect to be back 
for two or three days, and Jim remembered that Lady 
Mary had talked of going to Paris. 

“Do you know where she would stay in Paris?” 

“I don’t even know she’s gone to Paris, sir,” said 
the woman with a smile. “Lady Mary never tells me 
her plans.” 

Jim groaned. 

There was nothing to do but to wait until to-morrow 
and pursue his enquiries. In the meantime it was 
growing upon him that Eunice and he were bad friends. 
He smiled to himself. What would she say when she 
discovered that the woman who called him “Jim” was 
her mother! He must possess his soul in patience for 
another twenty-four hours. 

Suddenly a thought came to him, a thought which 


166 


BLUE HAND 


struck the smile from his lips. Eunice Weldon might 
forgive him and might marry him and change the drab 
roadway of life to a path of flowers, but Dorothy Dan- 
ton was a rich woman, wealthy beyond her dreams, 
and Jim Steele was a poor man. He sat back in his 
chair to consider that disquieting revelation. He 
could never marry the girl Eunice now, he thought; 
it would not be fair to her, or to him. Suppose she 
never knew I He smiled contemptuously at the 
thought. 

‘‘Get thee behind me, Satan,’^ he said to the little 
dog that crouched at his feet, watching him with eyes 
that never left his face. He bent down and patted the 
mongrel, who turned on his back with uplifted paws. 
“You and I have no particular reason to love Digby 
Groat, old fellow,^’ he said, for this was the dog he had 
rescued from Digby’s dissecting table, “and if he harms 
a hair of her head, he will be sorry he was ever born.” 

He began his search in the morning, almost as soon 
as the shipping offices opened. One by one they blasted 
his hopes, and he scarcely dared make his last call, 
which was at the office of the African Coastwise Line. 

“And I don’t think it is much use going to them,” 
said the clerk at the last but one of his calls. “They 
don’t sail from London, they are a Liverpool firm, and 
all their packets sail direct from the Mersey. I don’t 
think we have ever had a Coastwise boat in the London 
docks. I happen to know,” he explained, “because I 
was in the Customs before I came to this firm.” 

The Coastwise Line was an old-fashioned firm and 
occupied an old-fashioned office in a part of London 
which seemed to be untouched by the passing improve- 


BLUE HAND 


167 


merits of the age. It was one of those firms whidh have 
never succumbed to the blandishments of the Company 
Promoter, and the two senior partners of the firm, old 
gentlemen who had the appearance of being dignitaries 
of the Church, were seated on either side of a big 
partners’ table. 

Jim was received with old-world courtesy and a chair 
was placed for him by a porter almost as ancient as 
the proprietors of the African Coastwise Line. 

Both the gentlemen listened to his requirements in 
silence. 

“I don’t think we have ever had a ship pass through 
the Straits of Dover,” said one, shaking his head. 
^‘We were originally a Liverpool firm, and though the 
offices have always been in London, Liverpool is our 
headquarters.” 

^^And Avonmouth,” murmured his partner. 

“And Avonmouth, of course,” the elder of the two 
acknowledged the correction with a slight inclination 
of his head. 

“Then there is no reason why I should trouble you, 
gentlemen,” said Jim with a heavy heart. 

“It is no trouble, I assure you,” said the partner, 
“but to make absolutely sure we will get our sailings 
for—June, 1901, I think you said?” 

He rang a bell and to the middle-aged clerk, who 
looked so young, thought Jim, that he must be the 
office-boy, he made his request known. Presently the 
clerk came back with a big ledger which he laid on 
the partner’s desk. He watched the gentleman as his 
well manicured finger ran carefully down the pages 
and suddenly stopped. 


168 


BLUE HAND 


‘^Why, of course/’ he said looking up, “do you re¬ 
member we took over a Union African trip when they 
were hard pressed with transport work?” 

“To be sure,” said his partner. “It was the Battle¬ 
dore we sent out, she went from Tilbury. The only 
ship of ours that has ever sailed from Thames River.” 

“What date did it sail?” asked Jim eagerly. 

“It sailed with the tide, which was apparently about 
eight o’clock in the morning of the 21st of June. Let 
me see,” said the partner rising and going to a big 
chart that hung on the wall, “that would bring her up 
to the North Foreland Light at about twelve o’clock. 
What time did the accident occur?” 

“At noon,” said Jim huskily, and the partners looked 
at one another. 

“I don’t remember anything peculiar being reported 
on that voyage,” said the senior slowly. 

“You were in Switzerland at the time,” said the other, 
“and so was I. Mr. Mansar was in charge.” 

“Is Mr. Mansar here?” asked Jim eagerly. 

“He Js dead,” said the partner gently. “Yes, poor 
Mr. Mansar is dead. He died at a comparatively early 
age of sixty-three, a very amiable man, who played the 
piano remarkably well.” 

“The violin,” murmured his partner. 

Jim was not interested in the musical accomplish¬ 
ments of the deceased Mr. Mansar. 

“Is there no way of finding out what happened on 
that voyage?” 

It was the second of the partners who spoke. 

“We can produce the log book of the Battledore** 

“I hope we can,” corrected the other. “The Battle- 


BLUE HAND 


169 


dore was sunk during the Great War, torpedoed off 
the Needles, but Captain Pinnings, who was in com¬ 
mand of her at the time, is alive and hearty.’^ 

‘^And his log book?” asked Jim. 

“That we must investigate. We keep all log books 
at the Liverpool office, and I will write to-night to ask 
our managing clerk to send the book down, if it is in 
his possession.” 

“This is very urgent,” said Jim earnestly. “You 
have been so kind that I would not press you if it were 
not a matter of the greatest importance. Would it 
be possible for me to go to Liverpool and see the log?” 

“I think I can save you that trouble,” said the elder 
of the two, whose names Jim never knew. “Mr. Harry 
is coming down to London to-morrow, isn^t he?” 

His friend nodded. 

“Well, he can bring the book, if it exists. I will 
tell the clerk to telephone to Liverpool to that effect,” 
and with this Jim had to content himself, though it 
meant another twenty-four hours’ delay. 

He reported progress to the lawyer, when he deter¬ 
mined upon making a bold move. His first business 
was the protection of Eunice, and although he did not 
imagine that any immediate danger threatened her, 
she must be got out of 409, Grosvenor Square at the 
earliest opportunity. 

If Lady Mary were only in London, how simple it 
would bel As it was, he had neither the authority 
to command nor the influence to request. 

He drove up to 409, Grosvenor Square and was 
immediately shown into Digby Groat’s study. 

“How do you do, Mr. Steele,” said that bland gentle- 


170 


BLUE HAND 


man. ‘‘Take a seat, will you? It is much more com¬ 
fortable than hiding under the table,he added, and 
Jim smiled. 

“Now what can I do for you?’’ 

“I want to see Miss Weldon,” said Jim. 

“I believe the lady is out; but I will enquire.” 

He rang the bell and immediately a servant answered 
the summons. 

“Will you ask Miss Weldon to step down here?” 

“It is not necessary that I should see her here,” said 
Jim. 

“Don’t worry,” smiled Digby. “I will make my exit 
at the proper moment.” 

The maid returned, however, with the news that the 
lady had gone out. 

“Very well,” said Jim taking up his hat, and with a 
smile as bland as his unwilling host’s, “I will wait out¬ 
side until she comes in.” 

“Admirable persistence!” murmured Digby. “Per¬ 
haps I can find her.” 

He went out and returned again in a few minutes 
with Eunice. 

“The maid was quite misinformed,” he said urbanely. 
“Miss Weldon had not gone out.” 

He favored her with a little bow and left the room 
closing the door behind him. 

Eunice stood with her hands behind her, looking at 
the man on whom her hopes and thoughts had centered, 
and about whose conduct such a storm was still rag¬ 
ing in her bosom. 

“You want to see me, Mr. Steele?” 

Her attitude shook his self-possession and drove 


BLUE HAND 171 

from his mind all the carefully reasoned arguments he 
had prepared. 

‘‘I want you to leave this house, Eunice,” he said. 

“Have you a new reason?” she asked, though she 
hated herself for the sarcasm. 

“I have the best of reasons,” he said doggedly. “I 
am satisfied that you are the daughter of Lady Mary 
Danton.” 

Again she smiled. 

“I think youVe used that argument before, haven’t 
you?” 

“Listen, Eunice, I beg of you,” he pleaded. “I can 
prove that you are Lady Mary’s daughter. That scar 
on your wrist was made by Digby Groat when you were 
a baby. And there is no Eunice Weldon. We have 
proved that she died in Cape Town a year after you 
were born.” 

She regarded him steadily, and his heart sank. 

“That is very romantic,” she said, “and have you 
anything further to say?” 

“Nothing, except the lady you in my room was 
your mother.” 

Her eyes opened wider and' then lie saw a little smile 
come and go like a ray of Winter sunshine on her lips. 

“Really, Jim,” she said, “you should write stories. 
And if it interests you, I might tell you that I am 
leaving this house in a few days. I am going back 
to my old employment. I don’t want you to explain 
who the woman was who has the misfortune to be 
without a telephone and the good fortune to have the 
key of your flat,” she said, her anger swamping the 
pity she had for him. “I only want to tell you that 


172 


BLUE HAND 


you have shaken my faith in men more than Digby 
Groat or any other man could have done. You have 
hurt me beyond forgiveness.” 

For a moment her voice quivered and then with an 
effort of will she pulled herself together and walked 
to the door. ^‘Good-by, Jim,” she said, and was gone. 

He stood as she had left him, stunned, unable to 
believe his ears. Her scorn struck him like a whip, 
the injustice of her view of him deprived him of 
speech. 

For a second a blinding wave of anger drowned all 
other emotions, but this passed. He could have gone 
now, for there was no hope of seeing her again and 
explaining even if he had been willing to offer any 
explanation. 

But he stayed on. He was anxious to meet Digby 
Groat and find from his attitude what part he had 
played in forming the girl’s mind. The humor of the 
situation struck him and he laughed though his laughter 
was filtered through a pain that was so nearly physical 
that he could not distinguish the one from the other. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT 


T he end was coming. Digby Groat took too 
sane a view of things to mistake the signs. 
For two years he had been in negotiation 
with a land agent in San Paulo and had practically 
completed the purchase of an estate. By subterranean 
methods he had skillfully disguised the identity of the 
purchaser, and on that magnificent ranch he intended 
to spend a not unpleasant life. It might not come to 
a question of flight, in which case the ranch would be a 
diversion from the humdrum life of England. And 
more than ever was he determined that Eunice Weldon 
should accompany him, and share, at any rate, a year 
of his life. Afterwards—he shrugged his shoulders. 
Women had come into his life before, had at first fas¬ 
cinated, and then bored him, and had disappeared from 
his ken. Probably Eunice would go the same way, 
though he could not contemplate the possibility at the 
moment. 

3|C Ji: * ♦ * 

The hours of the morning passed all too slowly for 
Jim Steele. The partner brothers had said that their 
“Mr. Harry’’ would arrive at one o’clock and punc¬ 
tually at that hour Jim was waiting in the outer office. 

Mr. Harry’s train, however, must have been late. 
It was nearer two when he came in, followed by a por¬ 
ter carrying a thick parcel under his arm. Presently 
the porter came out. 


173 


174 


BLUE HAND 


‘‘Will you go in, sir,’’ he said respectfully, and Jim 
stepped quickly into the room. 

Mr. Harry, whom he had thought of as a boy, was 
a grave man of fifty and apparently the younger 
brother of the eldest partner. 

“We have found the log of the Battledore said that 
gentleman, “but I have forgotten the date.” 

“June 21st,” said Jim. 

The log lay open upon the big table, and its presence 
brought an atmosphere of romance into this quiet 
orderly office. 

“Here we are,” said the partner. '‘^Battledore left 
Tilbury 9 A. M. on the tide. Wind east by south-east, 
sea smooth, hazy.” He ran his fingers down. “This 
is what I think you want.” 

For Jim it was a moment of intense drama. The 
partner was reading some preliminary and suddenly he 
came to the entry which was to make all the difference 
in the world to the woman whom Jim loved dearer 
than life. 

“ ‘Heavy fog, speed reduced at 11.50 to half. Re¬ 
duced to quarter speed at 12.1. Bosun reported that 
we had run down small rowing boat and that he had 
seen two persons in the water. Able seaman Grant 
went overboard and rescued child. The second person 
was not found. Speed increased, endeavored to speak 
Dungeness, but weather too hazy for flag signals’— 
this was before the days of wireless, you must under¬ 
stand, Mr. Steele.” 

Jim nodded. 

“ ‘Sex of child discovered, girl, apparent age a few 
months. Child handed to stewardess ’ ” 


BLUE HAND 175 

Entry followed entry, but there was no further ref¬ 
erence to the child until he came to Funchal. 

‘In the Island of Madeira,’^ he explained. “ ‘Ar¬ 
rived Funchal 6 a. m. Reported recovery of child to 
British Consul, who said he would cable to London.^ ” 

The next entry was: 

“Dakka—a port on the West Coast of Africa and 
French protectorate,’’ said the partner. “ ‘Received 
cable from British Consul at Funchal saying no loss 
of child reported to London police.’ ” 

There was no other entry which affected Jim until 
one on the third day before the ship arrived at Cape 
Town. 

“ ‘Mr. Weldon, a Cape Town resident who is travel¬ 
ing with his wife for her health, has offered to adopt 
the child picked up by us on June 21st, having recently 
lost one of his own. Mr. Weldon being known to the 

Captain and vouched for by Canon Jesson-’ this 

was apparently a fellow-passenger of his,” explained the 
partner—“ ‘the child was handed to his care, on condi¬ 
tion that the matter was reported to the authorities in 
Cape Town.’ ” 

A full description of the size, weight, and coloring 
of the little waif followed, and against the query 
“Marks on Body” were the words “Scar on right wrist, 
doctor thinks the result of a recent burn.” 

Jim drew a long sigh. 

“I cannot tell you, gentlemen, how grateful I am to 
you. You have righted a great wrong and have earned 
the gratitude of the child who is now a woman.” 

“Do you think that this is the young lady?” 

Jim nodded. 


176 


BLUE HAND 


am sure,” he said quietly. ‘The log of Captain 
Pinnings supplies the missing link of evidence. We 
may have to ask you to produce this log in court, 
but I hope that the claim of our client will not be dis¬ 
puted.” 

He walked down Threadneedle Street, treading on 
air, and the fact that while he had gained for Eunice— 
her name was Dorothy now, but she would be always 
Eunice to him—a fortune, he had lost the greatest 
fortune that could be bestowed upon a man, did not 
disturb his joy. 

He had made a rough copy of the log and with this 
in his hand he drove to Septimus Salter’s office and 
without a word laid the extracts before him. 

Mr. Salter read and as he read his eyes lit up. 

“The whole thing is remarkably clear,” he said, 
“the log proves the identity of Lady Mary’s daughter. 
Your investigations are practically complete?” 

“Not yet, sir,” smiled Jim. “We have first to dis¬ 
place Jane Groat and her son,” he hesitated, “and we 
must persuade Miss Danton to leave that house.” 

“In that case,” said the lawyer rising, “I think an 
older man’s advice will be more acceptable than yours, 
my boy, and I’ll go with you.” 

A new servant opened the door and almost at the 
sound of the knock, Digby came out of his study, 
urbane and as perfectly groomed as usual. 

“I want to see Miss Weldon,” said the lawyer and 
Digby stiffened at the sight of him. He would have 
felt more uncomfortable if he had known what was in 
Salter’s mind. 

Digby was looking at him straightly; his whole atti¬ 
tude, thought Jim, was one of tense anxiety. 


BLUE HAND 


177 


‘‘I am sorry you cannot see Miss Weldon,” he said 
speaking slowly. ‘‘She left with my mother by an 
early Continental train and at this moment I should 
imagine, is somewhere in the region of Paris.” 

“That is a damned lie!” said Jim Steele calmly. 


CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE 


HEY stood confronting one another, two men 
with murder in their hearts. 



JL ‘‘It is a lie!’’ repeated Jim. “Miss Weldon 
is either here or she has been taken to that hell house 
of yours in Somerset!” 

For the time being Digby Groat was less concerned 
by Jim’s vehement insult, than he was by the presence 
of the lawyer. 

“So you lend yourself to this blackguardly outrage,” 
he sneered. “I should have thought a man of your 
experience would have refused to have been made a 
dupe of by this fellow. Anyway,” he turned to Jim, 
“Miss Weldon wants no more to do with you. She has 
told me about that quarrel and really, Steele, you have 
behaved very badly.” 

The man was lying. Jim did not think twice about 
that. Eunice would never have made a confidant of 
him. 

“What is your interest in Miss Weldon?” asked 
Digby addressing the lawyer. 

“Outside of a human interest, none,” said old Salter 
and Jim was staggered. 

“But-” he began. 

“I think we had better go, Steele,” Salter interrupted 
him with a warning glance. 

They were some distance from the house before Jim 
spoke. 


178 


BLUE HAND 179 

“But why didn^t you tell him, Mr. Salter, that Eunice 
was the heiress of the Dan ton fortune?” 

Salter looked at him with an odd queer expression 
in his bright blue eyes. 

“Suppose all you fear has happened,” he said gently. 
“Suppose this man is the villain that we both believe 
he is, and the girl is in his power. What would be the 
consequence of my telling him that Eunice Weldon 
was in a position to strip him of every penny he pos¬ 
sesses, to turn him out of his house and reduce him to 
penury?” 

Jim bit his lip. 

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said humbly, “I’m an impetuous 
fool.” 

“So long as Digby Groat does not know that Eunice 
threatens his position she is comparatively safe. At 
any rate, her life is safe. Once we let him learn all 
that we know, she is doomed.” 

Jim nodded. 

“Do you think, then, that she is in real danger?” he 
asked. \ 

“I am certain that Mr. Digby Groat would not hesi¬ 
tate at murder to serve his ends,” said the lawyer 
gruffly. 

They did not speak again until they were in the 
office in Marlborough Street, and then Jim threw him¬ 
self down in a chair with a groan and covered his face 
with his hands. 

“It seems as if we are powerless,” he said bitterly, 
and then looking up, “Surely Mr. Salter, the law is 
greater than Digby Groat. Are there no processes we 
can set in motion to pull him down?” 

It was very seldom old Septimus Salter smoked in 


180 


BLUE HAND 


his office, but this was an occasion for an extraordinary 
happening. He took from a cabinet an old meer¬ 
schaum pipe and polishing it on the sleeve of his 
broadcloth coat, slowly filled it, packing down the strag¬ 
gling strands of tobacco which overflowed the pipe, with 
exasperating calmness. 

“The law, my boy, is greater than Digby Groat, 
and greater than you or I. Sometimes ignorant people 
laugh at it, sometimes they sneer at it, generally they 
curse it. But there it is, the old dilatory machinery, 
grinding slow and grinding exceedingly small. It is 
not confined to the issue of search warrants, of arrest 
and judgments. It has a thousand weapons to strike 
at the cheat and the villain and, by God, every one of 
those weapons shall be employed against Digby 
Groat I 

Jim sprang to his feet and gripped the old man’s 
hand. 

“And if the law cannot touch him,” he said, “I will 
make a law of these two hands and strangle the life 
out of him.” 

Mr. Salter looked at him admiringly, but a little 
amused. 

“In which case, my dear Steele,” he said drily, “the 
law will take you in her two hands and strangle the 
life out of you and it doesn’t seem worth while, when 
a few little pieces of paper will probably bring about as 
effective a result as your willful murder of this damna¬ 
ble scoundrel.” 

Immediately Jim began his enquiries. To his sur¬ 
prise he learnt that the party had actually been driven 
to Victoria Station. It consisted of Eunice and old 
Mrs. Groat. Moreover, two tickets for Paris had been 


BLUE HAND 


181 


taken by Digby and two seats reserved in the first-class 
carriages. It was through these Pullman reservations 
that the names of Eunice and the old woman were easy 
to trace, as Digby Groat intended they should be. 

Whether they had left by the train, he could not 
discover. 

He returned to the lawyer and reported progress. 

“The fact that Jane Groat has gone does not prove 
that our client has also gone,’’ said the lawyer sensibly. 

“Our client?” said Jim puzzled. 

“Our client,” repeated Septimus Salter with a smile. 
“Do not forget that Miss Danton is our client and until 
she authorizes me to hand her interests elsewhere-” 

“Mr. Salter,” interrupted Jim, “when was the Dan- 
ton estate handed over to Bennetts?” 

“This morning,” was the staggering reply, though 
Mr. Salter did not seem particularly depressed. 

“Good heavens,” gasped Jim, “then the estate is in 
Digby Groat’s hands?” 

The lawyer nodded. 

“For a while,” he said, “but don’t let that worry 
you at all. You get along with your search. Have 
you heard from Lady Mary?” 

“Who, sir?” said Jim, again staggered. 

“Lady Mary Danton,” said the lawyer, enjoying 
his surprise. “Your mysterious woman in black. 
Obviously it was Lady Mary. I never had any doubt 
of it, but when I learnt about the Blue Hand, I was 
certain. You see, my boy,” he said with a twinkle in 
his eyes, “I have been making enquiries in a direction 
vhich you have neglected.” 

“What does the Blue Hand mean?” asked Jim. 
^<ady Mary will tell you one of these days, and 



182 


BLUE HAND 


until she does, I do not feel at liberty to take you into 
my confidence. Have you ever been to a dyer’s, 
Steele?” 

“A dyer’s, sir, yes, I’ve been to a dye works, if that 
is what you mean.” 

‘‘Have you ever seen the hands of the women who 
use indigo?” 

“Do you suggest that when she disappeared she went 
to a dye works?” said Jim incredulously. 

“She will tell you,” replied the lawyer, and with 
that he had to be content. 

The work was now too serious and the strings were 
too widely distributed to carry on alone. Salter en¬ 
listed the services of two ex-ofiicers of the Metropolitan 
Police who had established a detective agency, and at 
a conference that afternoon the whole of the story, as 
far as it was known, was revealed to Jim’s new helpers, 
ex-Inspector Holder and ex-Sergeant Field. 

That afternoon Digby Groat, looking impatiently 
out of the window, saw a bearded man strolling casually 
along the garden side of the square, a pipe in his mouth, 
apparently absorbed in the contemplation of nature 
and the architectural beauty of Grosvenor Square. 
He did not pay as much attention to the lounger as he 
might have done, had not his scrutiny been interrupted 
by the arrival of Mr. Bennett, an angular, sandy-haired 
Scotsman, who was not particularly enamored of his 
new employer. 

“Well, Mr. Bennett, has old Salter handed over all 
the documents?” 

“Yes, sir,” said Bennett, “every one.” 

“You are sure he has not been up to any trickery?” 

Mr. Bennett regarded him coldly. 


BLUE HAND 


183 


“Mr. Septimus Salter, sir,’’ he said quietly, ^^is an 
eminent lawyer, whose name is respected wherever 
it is mentioned. Great lawyers do not indulge in 
trickery.” 

‘‘Well, you needn’t get offended. Good Lord, you 
don’t suppose he feels friendly towards you, do you?” 

“What he feels to me, sir,” said Mr. Bennett,- his 
strong northern accent betraying his annoyance, “is 
a matter of complete indifference. It is what I think 
of him that we are discussing. The leases of the Lake¬ 
side Property have been prepared for transfer. You 
are not losing much time, Mr. Groat.” 

“No,” said Digby, after a moment’s thought. “The 
fact is, the people in the syndicate which is purchasing 
this property are very anxious to take possession. 
What is the earliest you can transfer?” 

“To-morrow,” was the reply. “I suppose,” he hesi¬ 
tated. “I suppose there is no question of the original 
heiress of the will—Dorothy Danton I think her name 
is—turning up imexpectedly at the last moment?” 

Digby smiled. 

“Dorothy Danton, as you call her, has been food 
for the fishes these twenty years,” he said. “Don’t 
you worry your head about her.” 

“Very good,” said Bennett, producing a number of 
papers from a black leather portfolio. “Your signa¬ 
ture will be required on four of these, and the signature 
of your mother on the fifth.” 

Digby frowned. 

“My mother? I thought it was unnecessary that 
she should sign anything. I have her Power of At¬ 
torney.” 

“Unfortunately the Power of Attorney is not suffi- 


184 


BLUE HAND 


ciently comprehensive to allow you to sign away certain 
royalty rights which descend to her through her father. 
They are not very valuable/^ said the lawyer, ‘‘but 
they give her lien upon Kennett Hall, and in these 
circumstances, I think you had better not depend upon 
the Power of Attorney in case there is any dispute. 
Mr. Salter is a very shrewd man, and when the particu¬ 
lars of this transaction are brought to his notice I 
think it is very likely that, feeling his responsibility as 
Mr. Danton’s late lawyer, he will enter a caveat.” 

“What is a caveat?” 

“Literally,” said Mr. Bennett, “a caveat emptor 
means ‘let the purchaser beware,’ and if a caveat is 
entered, your syndicate would not dare take the risk 
of paying you for the property, even though the caveat 
had no effect upon the estate which were transferred 
by virtue of your Power of Attorney.” 

Digby tugged at his little mustache and stared out 
of the window for a long time. 

“All right, I’ll get her signature.” 

“She is in Paris, I understand.” 

Digby shot a glance at him. 

“How do you know?” he asked. 

“I had to call at Mr. Salter’s office to-day,” he said, 
“to verify and agree to the list of securities which he 
handed me, and he mentioned the matter in passing.” 

Digby growled something under his breath. 

“Is it necessary that you should see Salter at all?” 
he asked with asperity. 

“It is necessary that I should conduct my own 
business in my own way,” said Mr. Bennett with th?" 
acid smile of his. 

Digby shot an angry glance at him and resoh' 


BLUE HAND 


185 


as soon as the business was completed, he would have 
little use for this uncompromising Scotsman. He hated 
the law and he hated lawyers, and he had been imder 
the impression that Messrs. Bennett would be so over¬ 
whelmed with joy at the prospect of administering 
his estate, that they would agree to any suggestion 
he made. He had yet to learn that the complacent 
lawyer is a figure of fiction and if he is found at all, it 
is in the character of the seedy broken-down old solic¬ 
itor who hangs about Police Courts and who interviews 
his clients in the bar parlor of the nearest public house. 

‘‘Very good,’’ he said, “give me the paper. I will 
get her to sign it.” 

“Will you go to Paris?” 

“Yes,” said Digby. “I’ll send it across by—er— 
aeroplane.” 

The lawyer gathered up the papers and thrust them 
back into the wallet. 

“Then I will see you at twelve o’clock to-morrow 
at the office of the Northern Land S 3 mdicate.” 

Digby nodded. 

“Oh, by the way, Bennett,” he called the lawyer 
back, “I wish you to put this house in the market. 
I shall be spending a great deal of my time abroad and 
I have no use for this costly property. I want a quick 
sale, by the way.” 

“A quick sale is a bad sale for the seller,” quoth 
the lawyer, “but I’ll do what I can for you, Mr. Groat. 
Do you want to dispose of the furniture?” 

Digby nodded. 

“And you have another house in the country?” 

“That is not for sale,” said Digby shortly. 

When the lawyer had gone he went up to his 


186 


BLUE HAND 


room and changed, taking his time over his toilet. 

‘‘Now,” he said as he drew on his gloves with a 
quiet smile, “I have to induce Eunice to be a good 
girll” 


CHAPTER THIRTY 


D IGBY groat made an unexpected journey 
west. 

A good general, even in the hour of his 
victory, prepares the way for retreat, and the possi¬ 
bility of Kennett Hall had long appealed to Digby as 
a likely refuge in a case of emergency. 

Kennett Hall was one of the estates which his 
mother had inherited and which, owing to his failure 
to secure her signature, had not been prepared for 
transfer to the land syndicate. It had been the home 
of the Danton family for one hundred and forty years. 
A rambling, neglected house, standing in a big and 
gloomy park, it had been untenanted almost as long as 
Digby could remember. 

He had sent his car down in the early morning, but 
he himself had gone by train. He disliked long motor 
journeys, and though he intended coming back by road, 
he preferred the quietude and smooth progress of the 
morning railway journey. 

The car, covered with dust, was waiting for him at 
the railway station, and the few officials who consti¬ 
tuted the station staff, watched him go out of the gate 
without evidence of enthusiasm. 

‘‘ThaPs Groat who owns Kennett Hall, isn^t it?” 
said the porter to the aged station master. 

^‘That^s him,” was the reply. “It was a bad day 
for this country when that property came into old 
187 


188 


BLUE HAND 


Jane Groat’s hands. A bad woman that, if ever there 
was one.” 

Unconscious of the criticisms of his mother, Digby 
was bowling up the hill road leading to the gates of 
Kennett Hall. The gates themselves were magnificent 
specimens of seventeenth century ironwork, but the 
lodges on either side were those ugly stuccoed huts 
with which the mid-Victorian architect ‘‘embellished” 
the estates of the great. They had not been occupied 
for twenty years, and bore the appearance of their 
neglect. The little gardens which once had flowered 
so cheerfully before the speckless windows, were over¬ 
run by weeds, and the gravel drive, seen through the 
gates, was almost indistinguishable from the grass¬ 
land on either side. 

The caretaker came running down the drive to unlock 
the gates. He was an ill-favored man of fifty with a 
perpetual scowl which even the presence of his master 
could not wholly eradicate. 

“Has anybody been here. Masters?” asked Digby. 

“No, sir,” said the man, “except the flying gentle¬ 
man. He came this morning. What a wonderful 
thing flying is, sir! The way he came down in the 
Home Park was wonderful to see.” 

“Get on the step with the driver,” said Digby curtly, 
who was not interested in his servitor’s views of flying. 

The car drove through a long avenue of elms and 
turned to breast a treeless slope that led up to the 
lower terrace. All the beauty and loveliness of Somer¬ 
set in which it stood could not save Kennett Hall from 
the reproach of dreariness. Its parapets were crum¬ 
bled by the wind and rain of long forgotten seasons, 
and its face was scarred and stained with thirty winters’ 


BLUE HAND 


189 


rains. Its black and dusty windows seemed to leer 
upon the fresh clean beauty of the world, as though in 
pride of its sheer ugliness. 

For twenty years no painter’s brush had touched the 
drab and ugly woodwork: and the weeds grew high 
where roses used to bloom. Three great white seats 
of marble, that were placed against the crumbling 
terrace balustrade, were green with drippings from the 
neglected trees; the terrace floor was broken and the 
rags and tatters of dead seasons spread their molder- 
ing litter of leaves and twigs and moss upon the marble 
walk where stately dames had trodden in those brave 
days when Kennett Hall was a name to inspire awe. 

Digby was not depressed by his view of the property. 
He had seen it before, and at one time had thought 
of pulling it down and erecting a modern building for 
his own comfort. 

The man he had called Masters unlocked the big 
door and ushered him into the house. 

The neglect was here apparent. As he stepped into 
the big bleak entrance he heard the scurry and scamper 
of tiny feet and smiled. 

“You’ve got some rats here?” 

“Rats?” said Masters in a tone of resignation,, 
“there’s a colony of them, sir. It is as much as I can 
do to keep them out of my quarters, but there’s nothing 
in the east wing,” he hastened to add. “I had a couple 
of terriers and ferrets here for a month keeping them 
down, and they’re all on this side of the house.” He 
jerked his head to the right. 

“Is the flying gentleman here?” 

“He’s having breakfast, sir, at this minute.” 

Digby followed the caretaker down a long gloomy 


190 


BLUE HAND 


passage on the ground floor, and passed through the 
door that the man opened. 

The bearded Villa nodded with a humorous glint in 
his eye, as Digby entered. From his appearance and 
dress, he had evidently arrived by aeroplane. 

‘‘Well, you got here,^’ said Digby, glancing at the 
huge meal which had been put before the man. 

“I got here,” said Villa with an extravagant flourish 
of his knife. “But only by the favor of the gods. I 
do not like these scout machines: you must get Bronson 
to pilot it back.” 

Digby nodded, and pulling out a rickety chair, sat 
down. 

“I have given instructions for Bronson to come here: 
he will arrive to-night,” he said. 

“Good,” muttered the man continuing his meal. 

Masters had gone, and Villa was listening to the 
receding sound of his footsteps upon the uncovered 
boards, before he asked: 

“What is the idea of this, governor? You are not 
changing headquarters?” 

“I don’t know,” replied Digby shortly, “but the Sea- 
ford aerodrome is under observation. At least, Steele 
knows, or guesses, all about it. I have decided to hire 
some commercial pilots to give an appearance of genu¬ 
ine business to the company.” 

Villa whistled. 

“This place is no use to you, governor,” he said 
shaking his head. “They’d tumble to Kennett Hall— 
that’s what you call it, isn’t it?” He had an odd way 
of introducing slang words into his tongue, for he spoke 
in Spanish, and Digby smiled at “tumble.” 


BLUE HAND 191 

‘‘You’re becoming quite an expert in the English 
language, Villa.” 

“But why are you coming here?” persisted the 
other. “This could only be a temporary headquarters. 
Is the game slipping?” he asked suddenly. 

Digby nodded. 

“It may come to a case of sauve qui pent” he said, 
“though I hope it will not. Everything depends 

upon-” He did not finish his sentence, but asked 

abruptly: “How far is the sea from here?” 

“Not a great distance,” was the reply. “I traveled 
at six thousand feet and I could see the Bristol Channel 
quite distinctly.” 

Digby was stroking his chin, looking thoughtfully at 
the table. 

“I can trust you. Villa,” he said, “so I tell you now, 
much as you dislike these fast machines, you’ve got to 
hold yourself in readiness to pilot me to safety. Again, 
I say that I do not think it will come to flight, but we 
must be prepared. In the meantime, I have a commis¬ 
sion for you,” he said. “It was not only to bring 
the machine that I arranged for you to come to this 
place.” 

Villa had guessed that. 

“There is a man in Deauville to whom you have prob¬ 
ably seen references in the newspapers, a man named 
Maxilla. He is a rich coffee planter of Brazil.” 

“The gambler?” said the other in surprise, and 
Digby nodded. 

“I happen to know that Maxilla has had a very bad 
time; he lost nearly twenty million francs in one week, 
and that doesn’t represent all his losses. He has been 


192 


BLUE HAND 


gambling at Aix and at San Sebastian, and I should 
think he is in a pretty desperate position/’ 

“But he wouldn’t be broke,” said Villa shaking his 
head. “I know the man you mean. Why, he’s as 
rich as Croesus I I saw his yacht when you sent me to 
Havre. A wonderful ship, worth a quarter of a mil¬ 
lion. He has hundreds of square miles of coffee plan¬ 
tations in Brazil-” 

“I know all about that,” said Digby impatiently. 
“The point is, that for a moment he is very short of 
money. Now, do not ask me any questions. Villa: ac¬ 
cept my word.” 

“What do you want me to do?” asked the man. 

“Go to Deauville, take your slow machine and fly 
there: see Maxilla—^you speak Portuguese?” 

Villa nodded. 

“Like a native,” he said. “I lived in Lisbon-” 

“Never mind where you lived,” interrupted Digby 
impleasantly. “You will see Maxilla, and if, as I be¬ 
lieve, he is short of money, offer him a hundred thou¬ 
sand pounds for his yacht. He may want double that, 
and you must be prepared to pay it. Maxilla hasn’t 
the best of reputations, and probably his crew—^who 
are all Brazilians by the way—will be glad to sail under 
another flag. If you can effect the purchase, send me 
a wire, and order the boat to be brought round to the 
Bristol Channel to be coaled.” 

“It is an oil running ship,” said Villa. 

“Well, it must take on supplies of oil and provisions 
for a month’s voyage. The captain will come straight 
to me in London to receive his instructions. I daresay 
one of his officers can bring the boat across. Now is 
that clear to you?” 


BLUE HAND 


193 


‘^Everything is clear to me, my friend,’’ said Villa 
blandly, “except two things. To buy a yacht I must 
have money.” 

“That I will give you before you go.” 

“Secondly,” said Villa, putting the stump of his fore¬ 
finger in his palm, “where does poor August Villa come 
into this?” 

“You get away as well,” said Digby. 

“I see,” said Villa. 

“Maxilla must not know that I am the purchaser un¬ 
der any circumstances,” Digby went on. “You may 
either be buying the boat for yourself in your capacity 
as a rich Cuban planter, or you may be buying it for 
an unknown friend. I will arrange to keep the captain 
and the crew quiet as soon as I am on board. You 
leave for Deauville to-night.” 

He had other preparations to make. Masters re¬ 
ceived an order to prepare two small rooms and to ar¬ 
range for beds and bedding to be erected, and the in¬ 
structions filled him with consternation. 

“Don’t argue with me,” said Digby angrily. “Go 
into Bristol, into any town, buy the beds and bring 
them out in a car. I don’t care what it costs. And 
get a square of carpet for the floor.” 

He tossed a bundle of notes into the man’s hand, and 
Masters, who had never seen so much money in his 
life, nearly dropped them in sheer amazement. 


CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE 


D IGBY groat returned to town by car and 
reached Grosvenor Square in time for dinner. 
He had a hasty meal and then went up to 
his room and changed. 

He passed the room that Eunice occupied and found 
Jackson sitting on a chair before the door. 

“She’s all right,” said the man grinning. “I’ve 
shuttered and padlocked the windows and I’ve told her 
that if she doesn’t want me to make friendly calls she 
has to behave.” 

Digby nodded. 

“And my mother—^you gave her the little box?” 
Again Jackson grinned. 

“And she’s happy,” he said. “I never dreamt she 

was a dope, Mr. Groat-” 

“There is no need for you to dream anything,” said 
Digby sharply. 

He had a call to make. Lady Waltham was giving 
a dance that night, and there would be present two 
members of the syndicate whom he was to meet on the 
following morning. One of these drew him aside dur¬ 
ing the progress of the dance. 

“I suppose those transfers are quite in order for 
to-morrow,” he said. 

Digby nodded. 

“Some of my people are curious to know why you 
want cash,” he said looking at Digby with a smile. 

The other shrugged his shoulders. 

194 


BLUE HAND 


195 


“You seem to forget, my dear man,” he said suavely, 
“that I am merely an agent in these matters, and that 
I am acting for my rather eccentric mother, God bless 
her! ” 

“That is the explanation which had occurred to me,” 
said the financier. “The papers will be in order, of 
course? I seem to remember you saying that there 
was another paper which had to be signed by your 
mother.” 

Digby remembered with an unspoken oath that he 
had neglected to secure this signature. As soon as he 
could, he made his excuses and returned to Grosvenor 
Square. 

His mother^s room was locked, but she heard his 
gentle tap. 

“Who is that?” she demanded in audible agitation. 

“It is Digby.” 

“I will see you in the morning.” 

‘T want to see you to-night,” interrupted Digby 
sharply. “Open the door.” 

It was some time before she obeyed. She was in 
her dressing gown, and her yellow face was gray with 
fear. 

“I am sorry to disturb you, mother,” said Digby 
closing the door behind him, “but I have a document 
which must be signed to-night.” 

“I gave you everything you wanted,” she said trem¬ 
ulously, “didn’t I, dear? Everything you wanted, my 
boy?” 

She had not the remotest idea that he was disposing 
of her property. 

“Couldn’t I sign it in the morning?” she pleaded. 
“My hand is so shaky.” 


196 


BLUE HAND 


“Sign it now,” he almost shouted, and she obeyed. 

3|c jK Jjc * 

The Northern Land S 5 mdicate was but one branch 
of a great finance corporation, and had been called 
into existence to acquire the Danton properties. 

In a large, handsomely furnished board room, mem¬ 
bers of the syndicate were waiting. Lord Waltham 
was one, Hugo Vindt, the bluff, good-natured Jewish 
financier, whose fingers were in most of the business 
pies, was the second, and Felix Strathellan, that debo¬ 
nair man-about-town, was the important third—for he 
was one of the shrewdest land speculators in the 
kingdom. 

A fourth member of the party was presently shown 
in in the person of the Scotch lawyer, Bennett, who 
carried under his arm a black portfolio, which he laid 
on the table. 

“Good morning, gentlemen,” he said shortly. Mil¬ 
lionaires’ syndicates had long failed to impress him. 

“Good morning, Bennett,” said his lordship. “Have 
you seen your client this morning?” 

Mr. Bennett made a wry face as he unstrapped the 
portfolio. 

“No, my lord, I have not,” he said, and suggested 
by his tone that he was not at all displeased that he had 
missed a morning interview with Digby Groat. 

“A queer fellow is Groat,” said Vindt with a laugh. 
“He is not a business man, and yet he has curiously 
keen methods. I should never have guessed he was an 
Englishman: he looks more like a Latin, don’t you 
think. Lord Waltham?” 

His lordship nodded. 

“A queer family, the Groats,” he said. “I wonder 


BLUE HAND 197 

how many of you fellows know that his mother is a 
kleptomaniac?’’ 

“Good heavens,” said Strathellan in amazement, 
“you don’t mean that?” 

His lordship nodded. 

“She’s quite a rum old lady now,” he said, “though 
there was a time when she was as handsome a woman 
as there was in town. She used to visit us a lot, and 
invariably We discovered, when she had gone, that 
some little trinket, very often a perfectly worthless 
trifle, but on one occasion a rather valuable bracelet 
belonging to my daughter, had disappeared with her. 
Until I realized the true condition of affairs it used 
to worry me, but the moment I spoke to Groat, the 
property was restored, and we came to expect this 
evidence of her eccentricity. She’s a lucky woman,” 
he added. 

“I wouldn’t say that with a son like Digby,” smiled 
Strathellan, who was drawing figures idly on his blotting 
pad. 

“Nevertheless, she’s lucky,” persisted his lordship. 
“If that child of the Dantons hadn’t been killed, the 
Groats would have been as poor as church mice.” 

“Did you ever meet Lady Mary, my lord?” asked 
Vindt. 

Lord Waltham nodded. 

“I met Lady Mary and the baby,” he said quietly, 
“I used to be on dining terms with the Dantons. And 
a beautiful little baby she was.” 

“What baby is this?” asked a voice. 

Digby Groat had come in in his noiseless fashion, 
and closed the door of the board room softly behind 
him. The question was the first intimation they had 


198 


BLUE HAND 


of his presence, all except Lord Waltham, who out of 
the corner of his eye, had seen his entrance. 

^‘We were talking about Lady Mary’s baby, your 
cousin.” 

Digby Groat smiled contemptuously. 

“It will not profit us very much to discuss her,” 
he said. 

“Do you remember her at all, Groat?” asked 
Waltham. 

“Dimly,” said Digby with a careless shrug. “I’m 
not frightfully keen on babies. I have a faint recol¬ 
lection that she was once staying in our house, and I 
associate her with prodigious howling! Is everything 
all right, Bennett?” 

Bennett nodded. 

“Here is the paper you asked for.” Digby took it 
from his pocket and laid it before the lawyer, who 
unfolded it leisurely and read it with exasperating 
slowness. 

“That is in order,” he said. “Now, gentlemen, we 
will get to business.” 

Such of them as were not already seated about the 
table drew up their chairs. 

“Your insistence upon having the money in cash has 
been rather a nuisance, Groat,” said Lord Waltham, 
picking up a tin box from the floor and opening it. “I 
hate to have a lot of money in the office; it has meant 
the employment of two special watchmen.” 

“I will pay,” said Digby good-humoredly, watching 
with greedy eyes as bundle after bundle of notes was 
laid upon the table. 

The lawyer twisted round the paper and offered him 
a pen. 


BLUE HAND 


199 


‘^You will sign here, Mr. Groat,” he said. 

At that moment Vindt turned his head to the clerk 
who had just entered. 

^Tor me?” he said, indicating the letter in the man’s 
hand. 

^‘No, sir, for Mr. Bennett.” 

Bennett took the note, looked at the name embossed 
upon the flap, and frowned. 

‘Trom Sc?Ler,” he said, ''and it is marked 'urgent 
and important.’ ” 

"Let it wait until after we have finished the busi¬ 
ness,” said Digby impatiently. 

"You had better see what it is,” replied the lawyer 
and took out a typewritten sheet of paper. He read 
it through carefully. 

"What is it?” asked Digby. 

"I’m afraid this sale cannot go through,” answered 
the lawyer slowly. "Salter has entered a caveat 
against the transfer of the property.” 

Livid with rage Digby sprang to his feet. 

"What right has he?” he demanded savagely. "He 
is no longer my lawyer: he has no right to act. Who 
authorized him?” 

The lawyer had a queer expression on his face. 

"This cave^.t,” he said speaking deliberately, "has 
been entered by Salter on behalf of Dorothy Danton, 
who, according to the letter, is still alive.”^ 

There was a painful silence, which the voice of Vindt 
broke. 

"So that settles the transfer,” he said. "We cannot 
go on with this business, you understand. Groat?” 

"But I insist on the transfer going through,” cried 
Digby violently. "The whole thing is a plot got up 


200 


BLUE HAND 


by that dithering old fool, Salter. Everybody knows 
that Dorothy Danton is dead! She has been dead for 
twenty years.’^ 

‘‘Nevertheless,” said Lord Waltham quietly, “we 
cannot move in face of the caveat. Without being a 
legal instrument, it places upon the purchasers of the 
property the fullest responsibility for their purchase.” 

“But I will sign the transfer,” said Digby vehe¬ 
mently. 

Lord Waltham shook his head. 

“It would not matter if you signed twenty trans¬ 
fers,” he said. “If we paid you the money for this 
property and it proved to be the property of Miss 
Danton, as undoubtedly it would prove, if she were 
alive, we and only we, would be responsible. We 
should have to surrender the property and look to you 
to refund us the money we' had invested in the estate. 
No, no. Groat, if it is, as you say, a bluff on the part 
of Salter—and upon my word, I cannot imagine a man 
of Salterns position, age and experience putting up 
empty bluff—then we can have a meeting on another 
day and the deal can go through. We are very eager 
to acquire these properties.” 

There was a murmur of agreement from both 
Strathellan and Vindt. 

“But at present, as matters stand, we can do nothing 
and you as a business man must recognize our helpless¬ 
ness in the matter.” 

Digby was beside himself with fury as he saw the 
money being put back in the tin box. 

“Very well,” he said. His face was pallid and his 
suppressed rage shook him as with an ague. But he 
never lost sight of all the possible developments of the 


BLUE HAND 


201 


lawyeraction. If he had taken so grave a step in 
respect to the property, he would take action in other 
directions and no time must be lost if he was to an¬ 
ticipate Salter’s next move. 

Without another word he turned on his heel and 
stalked down the stairs into the street. His car was 
waiting. 

“To the Third National Bank,” he said, as he flung 
himself into its luxurious interior. 

He knew that at the Third National Bank was a 
sum nearly approaching a hundred thousand pounds 
which his parsimonious mother had accumulated dur¬ 
ing the period she had been in receipt of the revenues 
of the Danton estate. Viewing the matter as calmly as 
he could, he was forced to agree that Salter was not 
the man who would play tricks or employ the machinery 
of the law, unless he had behind him a very substan¬ 
tial backing of facts. Dorothy Danton! Where had 
she sprung from? Who was she? Digby cursed her 
long and heartily. At any rate, he thought, as his car 
stopped before the bank premises, he would be on the 
safe side and get his hands on all the money which was 
lying loose. 

He wished now that when he had sent Villa to Deau¬ 
ville he had taken his mother’s money for the purchase 
of the gambler’s yacht. Instead of that he had drawn 
upon the enormous funds of the Thirteen. 

He was shown into the manager’s office, and he 
thought that that gentleman greeted him a little 
coldly. 

“Good morning, Mr. Stevens, I have come to draw 
out the greater part of my mother’s balance and I 
thought I would see you first.” 


202 


BLUE HAND 


^Tm glad you did, Mr. Groat,” was the reply. 
‘‘Will you sit down?” The manager was obviously 
ill at ease. “The fact is,” he confessed. “I am not 
in a position to honor any cheques you draw upon 
this bank.” 

“What the devil do you mean?” demanded Digby. 

“I am sorry,” said the manager shrugging his 
shoulders, “but this morning I have been served with 
a notice that a caveat has been entered at the Probate 
office, preventing the operation of the Dan ton will in 
your mother's favor. I have already informed our 
head office and they are taking legal opinion, but as 
Mr. Salter threatens to obtain immediately an injunc¬ 
tion unless we agree to comply, it would be madness 
on my part to let you touch a penny of your mother's 
account. Your own account, of course, you can draw 
upon.” 

Digby's own account contained a respectable sum, 
he remembered. 

“Very well,” he said after consideration. “Will 
you discover my balance and I will close the account.” 

He was cool now. This was not the moment to 
hammer his head against a brick wall. He needed to 
meet this cold-blooded old lawyer with cunning and 
foresight. Salter was diabolically wise in the law and 
had its processes at his finger-tips and he must go 
warily against the trained fighter or he would come to 
everlasting smash. 

Fortunately, the account of the Thirteen was at an¬ 
other bank, and if the worst came to the worst—well, 
he could leave eleven of the Thirteen to make the best 
of things they could. 

The manager returned presently and passed a slip 


BLUE HAND 


203 


across the table, and a few minutes afterwards Digby 
came back to his car, his pockets bulging with bank 
notes. 

A tall bearded man stood on the sidewalk as he 
came out and Digby gave him a cursory glance. 
Detective, he thought, and went cold. Were the po¬ 
lice already stirring against him, or was this some pri¬ 
vate watcher of Salterns? He decided rightly that it 
was the latter. 

When he got back to the house he found a telegram 
waiting. It was from Villa. It was short and satis¬ 
factory. 

“Bought Pealigo hundred and twelve thousand pounds. 
Ship on its way to Avonmouth. Am bringing captain back 
by air. Calling Grosvenor nine o’clock.’’ 

The frown cleared away from his face as he read the 
telegram for the second time, and as he thought, a smile 
lit up his yellow face. He was thinking of Eunice. 
The position was not without its compensations. 


CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO 


E unice was sitting in the shuttered room trying 
to read when Digby Groat came in. All the 
color left her face as she rose to meet him. 
“Good evening, Miss Weldon,” he said in his usual 
manner. “I hope you haven’t been very bored.” 

“Will you please explain why I am kept here a pris¬ 
oner?” she asked a little breathlessly. “You realize 

that you are committing a very serious crime-” 

He laughed in her face. 

“Well,” he said almost jovially, “at any rate, 
Eunice, we can drop the mask. That is one blessed 
satisfaction! These polite little speeches are irksome 
to me as they are to you.” 

He took her hand in his. 

“How cold you are, my dear,” he said, “yet the room 
is warm!” 

“When may I leave this house?” she asked in a 
low voice. 

“Leave this house—leave me?” He threw the 
gloves he had stripped on to a chair and caught her by 
the shoulders. “When are we going? That is a bet¬ 
ter way of putting it. How lovely you are, Eunice!” 

There was no disguise now. The mask was off, as 
he had said, and the ugliness of his black nature was 
written in his eyes. 

Still she did not resist, standing stiffly erect like a 
figure of marble. Not even when he took her face in 
204 



BLUE HAND 


205 


both his hands and pressed his lips to hers, did she 
move. She seemed incapable. Something inside her 
had frozen and she could only stare at him. 

“I want you, Eunice! I have wanted you all the 
time. I chose you out of all the women in the world 
to be mine. I have waited for you, longed for you, and 
now I have you! There is nobody here, Eunice, but 
you and me. Do you hear, darling?’’ 

Then suddenly a cord snapped within her. With 
an effort of strength which surprised him she thrust 
him off, her eyes staring in horror as though she con¬ 
templated some loathsome crawling thing. That look 
inflamed him. He sprang forward, and as he did, the 
girl in the desperation of frenzy, struck at him; twice 
her open hand came across his face. He stepped back 
with a yell. Before he could reach her she had flown 
into the bath room and locked the door. For fully 
five minutes he stood, then he turned and walked slowly 
across to the dressing table, and surveyed his face in 
the big mirror. 

‘‘She struck me!” he said. He was as white as a 
sheet. Against his pale face the imprint of her hand 
showed lividly. “She struck me!” he said again won¬ 
der ingly, and began to laugh. 

For every blow, for every joint on every finger of 
the hand that struck the blow, she should have pain. 
Pain and terror. She should pray for death, she should 
cram to him and clasp his feet in her agony. His 
breath came quicker and he wiped the sweat from his 
forehead with the back of his hand. 

He passed out, locking the door behind him. His 
hand was on the key when he heard a sound and look¬ 
ing along the corridor, saw the door of his mother’s 


206 


BLUE HAND 


room open and the old woman standing in the doorway. 

“Digby/^ she said, and there was a vigor and com¬ 
mand in her voice which made him frown. “I want 
you!^’ she said imperatively and in amazement he 
obeyed her. 

She had gone back to her chair when he came into 
the room. 

“What do you want?^^ he demanded. 

“Shut the door and sit down.’’ 

He stared at her dumfounded. Not for years had 
she dared address him in that tone. 

“What the devil do you mean by ordering me-” 

he began. 

“Sit down,” she said quietly, and then he under¬ 
stood. 

“So, you old devil, the dope is in you!” 

“Sit down, my love child,” she sneered. “Sit down, 
Digby Estremeda! I want to speak to you.” 

His face went livid. 

“You—^you-” he gasped. 

“Sit down. Tell me what you have done with my 
property.” 

He obeyed her slowly, looking at her as though he 
could not believe the evidence of his ears. 

“What have you done with my property?” she asked 
again. “Like a fool I gave you a Power of Attorney. 

How have you employed it? Have you sold-” She 

was looking at him keenly. 

He was surprised into telling the truth. 

“They have put an embargo—or some such rubbish 
—on the sale.” 

She nodded. 





BLUE HAND 207 

“I hoped they would/^ she said. “I hoped they 
would 

“You hoped they would?’’ he roared, getting up. 

Her imperious hand waved him down again. He 
passed his hand over his eyes like a man in a dream. 
She was issuing orders; this old woman whom he had 
dominated for years, and he was obeying meekly! 
He had given her the morphine to quiet her, and 
it had made her his master. 

“Why did they stop the sale?” 

“Because that old lunatic Salter swears that the 
girl is still alive—Dorothy Danton, the baby who was 
drowned at Margate!” 

He saw a slow smile on her lined face and wondered 
what was amusing her. 

“She is alive! ” she said. 

He could only glare at her in speechless amazement. 

“Dorothy Danton alive?” he said. “You’re mad, 
you old fool! She’s gone beyond recall—dead—dead 
these twenty years!” 

“And what brought her back to life, I wonder?” 
mused the old woman. “How did they know she was 
Dorothy? Why, of course you brought her back!” 
She pointed her skinny finger at her son. “You 
brought her, you are the instrument of your own un¬ 
doing, my boy!” she said derisively. “Oh you poor 
little fool—you clever fool!” 

Now he had mastered himself. 

“You will tell me all there is to be told, or by God, 
you’ll be sorry you ever spoke at all,” he breathed. 

“You marked her. That is why she has been 
recognized—^you marked her!” 


208 


BLUE HAND 


“I marked her?^’ 

^^Don’t you remember, Digby,” she spoke rapidly 
and seemed to find a joy in the hurt she was causing, 
^‘a tiny baby and a cruel little beast of a boy who 
heated a sixpence and put it on the baby^s wrist? 

It came back to him instantly. He could almost 
hear the shriek of his victim. A summer day and a 
big room full of old furniture. The vision of a garden 
through an open window and the sound of the bees 
... a small spirit lamp where he had heated the 
coin. . . . 

‘^My God!” said Digby reeling back. ‘T remem¬ 
ber!” 

He stared at the mocking face of his mother for a 
second, then turned and left the room. As he did so, 
there came a sharp rat-tat at the door. Swiftly he 
turned into his own room and ran to the window. 

One glance at the street told him all that he wanted 
to know. He saw Jim and old Salter . . . there must 
have been a dozen detectives with them. 

The door would hold for five minutes, and there 
was time to carry out his last plan. 


CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE 


MINUTE later he appeared in Eunice Weldon’s 
room. 



X JL want you,” he said, and there was a sin¬ 
ister look in his eye that made the girl cower back 
from him in fear that she could not master. ‘‘My 
dear,” he said with that smile of his, “you need not 
be afraid, your friends are breaking into the house 
and in half-an-hbur you will be free. What I intend 
doing to you is to put you in such a condition that 
you will not be able to give information’against me 
until I am clear of this house. No, I am not going to 
kill you,” he almost laughed, “and if you are not sensi¬ 
ble enough to realize why I am taking this step, then 
you are a fool—and you are not a fool, Eunice.” 

She saw something bright and glittering in his hand 
and terror took possession of her. 

“Don’t touch me,” she gasped. “I swear I will not 
tell,” but he had gripped her arm. 

“If you make a sound,” his face was thrust into 
hers, “you’ll regret it to the last day of your life.” 

She felt a sudden pricking sensation in her arm and 
tried to pull it away, but her arm was held as by a 
vise. 

“There. It wasn’t very painful, was it?” 

She heard him utter a curse, and when he turned 
his face was red with rage. 

“They’ve smashed in the gates,” he said sharply. 


209 


210 


BLUE HAND 


She was walking toward him, her hand on the little 
puncture the needle had made, and her face was 
curiously calm. 

‘‘Are you going now?” she asked simply. 

“We are going in a few minutes,” said Digby, 
emphasizing the “we.” 

But even this she did not resent. She had fallen 
into a curious, placid condition of mind which was 
characterized by the difficulty, amounting to an im¬ 
possibility, of remembering what happened the previous 
minute. All she could do was to sit down on the edge 
of a chair, nursing her arm. She knew it hurt her, and 
yet she was conscious of no hurt. It was a curious, 
impersonal sensation she had. To her, Digby Groat 
had no significance. He was a somebody whom she 
neither liked nor disliked. It was all very strange and 
pleasant. 

“Put your hat on,” he said and she obeyed. She 
never dreamt of disobeying. 

He led her to the basement and through a door 
which communicated with a garage. It was not the 
garage where he kept his own car—^Jim had often 
been puzzled to explain why Digby kept his car so 
far from the house. The only car visible was a covered 
van, such as the average tradesman uses to deliver his 
goods. 

“Get in,” said Digby and Eunice obeyed with a 
strange smile. 

She was under the influence of that admixture of 
morphine and hyoscin, which destroyed all memory and 
will. 

“Sit on the floor,” he ordered and laced the canvas 
flap at the back. He reached under the driver’s seat 


BLUE HAND 


211 


and pulled out a cotton coat which had once been white, 
but was now disfigured with paint and grease, button¬ 
ing it up to the throat. A cap he took from the same 
source and pulled it over his head, so that the peak 
well-covered his eyes. 

Then he opened the gates of a garage. He was in 
a mews, and with the exception of a woman who was 
talking to a milkman, the only two persons in sight, 
none saw the van emerge. 

There was not the slightest suspicion of hurry on his 
part. He descended from his seat to close the gates 
and lock them, lit a pipe and clambering up, set the 
little van going in the direction of the Bayswater Road. 

He stopped only at the petrol station to take aboard 
a fair supply of spirit, and then he went on, still at 
a leisurely pace, passing through the outlying suburbs, 
imtil he came to the long road leading from Staines to 
Ascot. Here he stopped and got down. 

Taking the little flat case from his pocket, and re¬ 
charging the glass cylinder, he opened the canvas flap 
at the back and looked in. 

Eunice was sitting with her back braced against the 
side of the van, her head nodding sleepily. She looked 
up with a puzzled expression. 

^Tt won’t hurt you,” said Digby. Again the needle 
went into her arm, and the piston was thrust home. 

She screwed up her face a little at the pain and again 
fondled her arm. 

“That hurt,” she said simply. 

Just outside Ascot a touring car was held up by 
two policemen and Digby slowed from necessity for 
the car had left him no room to pass. 

“We are looking for a man and a girl,” said one 


212 BLUE HAND 

of the policemen to the occupants of the car. “All 
right, sir, go on.^’ 

Digby nodded in a friendly way to the policeman. 

“Is it all right, sergeant?” 

“Off you go,” said the sergeant, not troubling to 
look inside a van on which was painted the name of 
a reputable firm of London furnishers. 

Digby breathed quickly. He must not risk another 
encounter. There would be a second barrier at the 
cross roads, where he intended turning. He must go 
back to London, he thought, the police would not stop 
a London-bound car. He turned into a secondary road 
and reached the main Bath road, passing another bar¬ 
rier where, as he had expected, the police did not chal¬ 
lenge him, though they were holding up a string of 
vehicles going in the other direction. There were half- 
a-dozen places to which he could take her, but the 
safest was a garage he had hired at the back of a block 
of buildings in Paddington. The garage had been use¬ 
ful to the Thirteen, but had not been utilized for the 
greater part of a year, though he had sent Jackson 
frequently to superintend the cleaning. 

He gained the west of London as the rain began to 
fall. Everything was in his favor. The mews in 
which the garage was situated was deserted and he had 
opened the gates and backed in the car before the occu¬ 
pants of the next garage were curious enough to come 
out to see who it was. 

Digby had one fad and it had served him well before. 
It was to be invaluable now. Years before, he had 
insisted that every house and every room, if it were 
only a store room, should have a lock of such a char¬ 
acter that it should open to his master key. 


BLUE HAND 213 

He half led, half lifted the girl from the car and she 
sighed wearily, for she was stiff and tired. 

‘‘This way,^^ he said and pushed her before him up 
the dark stairs, keeping her on the landing whilst he 
lit the gas. 

Though it had not been dusted for the best part of 
a month, the room overlooking the mews was neat and 
comfortably furnished. He pulled down the heavy 
blind before he lit the gas here, felt her pulse and 
looked into her eyes. 

“You’ll do, I think,” he said with a smile. “You 
must wait here until I come back. I am going to get 
some food.” 

“Yes,” she answered. 

He was gone twenty minutes, and on his return he 
saw that she had taken off her coat and had washed 
her hands and face. She was listlessly drying her 
hands when he came up the stairs. There was some¬ 
thing pathetically child-like in her attitude, and a man 
who was less of a brute than Digby Groat would 
have succumbed to the appeal of her helplessness. 

But there was no hint of pity in the thoughtful 
eyes that surveyed her. He was wondering whether 
it would be safe to give her another dose. In order 
to secure a quick effect he had administered more than 
was safe already. There might be a collapse, or a 
failure of heart, which would be as fatal to him as to 
her. He decided to wait until the effects had almost 
worn off. 

“Eat,” he said, and she sat at the table obediently. 

He had brought in cold meat, a loaf of bread, butter 
and cheese. He supplemented this feast with two 
glasses of water which he drew in the little scullery. 


214 


BLUE HAND 


Suddenly she put down her knife and fork, 
feel very tired/’ she said. 

So much the better, thought Digby. She would 
sleep now. 

The back room was a bedroom. He watched her 
whilst she unfastened her shoes and loosened the belt 
of her skirt before she lay down. With a sigh, she 
turned over and was fast asleep before he could walk 
to the other side of the bed to see her face. 

Digby Groat smoked for a long time over his simple 
meal. The girl was wholly in his power, but she could 
wait. A much more vital matter absorbed his atten¬ 
tion. He himself had reached the possibility which 
he had long foreseen and provided against. It was not 
a pleasant situation, he thought, and found relief for 
his mind by concentrating his thoughts upon the lovely 
ranch in Brazil, on which with average luck, he would 
spend the remainder of his days. 

Presently he got up, produced from a drawer a set 
of shaving materials wrapped in a towel, and heating 
some water at the little gas-stove in the kitchen, he 
proceeded to divest himself of his mustache. 

With the master key he unlocked the cupboard that 
ran the height of the room and surveyed thoughtfully 
the stacks of dresses and costumes which filled the 
half-a-dozen shelves. The two top shelves were filled 
with boxes, and he brought out three of these and 
examined their contents. From one of these he took a 
beautiful evening gown of silver tissue, and laid it 
over the back of a chair. A satin wrap followed, and 
from another box he took white satin shoes and stock¬ 
ings and seemed satisfied by his choice, for he looked 
at them for a long time before he folded them and 


BLUE HAND 


215 


put them back where he had found them. His own 
disguise he had decided upon. 

And now, having mapped out his plan, he dressed 
himself in a chauffeur’s uniform, and went out to the 
telephone. 


CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR 

EADI Jane Groat dead?’’ 

I j To Lady Mary the news came as a shock. 

Jim, gaunt and hollow eyed, sitting list¬ 
lessly by the window of Mr. Salter’s office, nodded. 

“The doctors think it was an overdose of morphia 
that killed her,’’ he said shortly. 

Lady Mary was silent for a long while, then: 

“I think perhaps now is a moment when I can tell 
you something about the Blue Hand,” she said. 

“Will it assist us?” asked Jim turning quickly. 

She shook her head. 

“I am afraid it will not, but this I must tell you. 
The person against whom the Blue Hand was directed 
was not Digby Groat, but his mother. I have made 
one grave mistake recently,” she said, “and it was to 
believe that Digby Groat was dominated by his mother. 
I was amazed to discover that so far from her domi¬ 
nating him, she was his slave and the only explanation 
I can give for this extraordinary transition is Digby 
Groat’s discovery that his mother was a drug taker. 
Once he was strong enough to keep the drug from her 
the positions were reversed. The story of the Blue 
Hand,” she said with sad little smile, “is neither as 
fantastic nor as melodramatic as you might expect.” 

There was a long silence which neither of the men 
broke. 


216 


BLUE HAND 


217 


“I was married at a very early age, as you know,” 
she nodded to Salter. “My father was a very poor 
nobleman with one daughter and no sons, and he found 
it not only difficult to keep up the mortgaged estates 
which he had inherited, but to make both ends meet 
even though he was living in the most modest way. 
Then he met Jonathan Danton’s father and between 
the two they fixed up a marriage between myself and 
Jonathan. I never met him until a week before my 
wedding day. He was a cold, hard man, very much 
like his father, just to a fault, proud and stiff-necked, 
and to his natural hardness of demeanor was added 
the fretfulness due to an affected heart, which even¬ 
tually killed him. 

“My married life was an unhappy one. The sym¬ 
pathy that I sought was denied me. With all his 
wealth, he could have made me happy, but from the 
first he seemed to be suspicious of me and I have often 
thought that he hated me because I was a member of 
a class which he professed to despise. When our 
daughter was born I imagined that there would be a 
change in his attitude, but, if anything, the change was 
for the worse. 

“I had met his sister, Jane Groat, and knew in a 
vague kind of way, that some scandal had attached 
to her name. Jonathan never discussed it, but his 
father, in his life-time, loathed Jane and would not 
allow her to put her foot inside his house. Jonathan 
hadn’t the same prejudices. He knew nothing of her 
escapade with the Spaniard Estremeda, and I only 
learnt of the circumstances by accident. 

“Jane was a peculiar mixture. Some days she 
would be bright and vivacious, and some days she 


218 


BLUE HAND 


would be in the depths of gloom, and this used to 
puzzle me, until one day we were at tea together at 
our house in Park Lane. She had come in a state of 
nerves and irritability which distressed me. I thought 
that her little boy was giving her trouble, for I knew 
how difficult he was, and how his cruel ways, even at 
that tender age, annoyed her. I nearly said distressed 
her,’’ she smiled, ‘‘but Jane was never distressed at 
things like that. We were having a cup of tea when 
she put her hand in her bag and took out a small bottle 
filled with brown pellets. 

“ ‘I really can’t wait any longer, Mary,’ she said 
and swallowed one of the pills. I thought it was some¬ 
thing for digestion, until I saw her eyes begin to 
brighten and her whole demeanor change, then I 
guessed the truth. 

“ ‘You’re not taking drugs, are you, Jane?’ I asked. 

“ ‘I’m taking a little morphine,’ she replied; ‘don’t 
be shocked, Mary. If you had my troubles and a 
little devil of a boy to look after, as I have, you’d take 
drugs, too!’ 

“But that was not her worst weakness, from my 
point of view. What that was I learnt after my hus¬ 
band sailed to America on business. 

“Dorothy was then about seven or eight months old, 
a bonny, healthy, beautiful child, whom my husband 
adored in his cold, dour fashion. One morning Jane 
came into my room while I was dressing, and apologiz¬ 
ing for her early arrival, asked me if I would go shop¬ 
ping with her. She was so cheerful and gay that I 
knew she had been swallowing some of those little pel¬ 
lets, and as I was at a loose end that morning I agreed. 
We went to several stores and finished up at Clayneys, 


BLUE HAND 


219 


the big emporium in Brompton Road. I noticed that 
Jane made very few purchases, but this didn^t strike 
me as being peculiar, because Jane was notoriously 
mean and I don’t think she had a great deal of money 
either. I did not know Clayneys. I had never been 
to the shop before. This explanation is necessary in 
view of what followed. Suddenly, when we were pass¬ 
ing through the silk department, Jane turned to me 
with a startled expression and said to me under her 
breath, ‘put this somewhere.’ 

“Before I could expostulate, she had thrust some¬ 
thing into the interior of my muff. It was a cold day 
and I was carrying one of those big pillow muffs which 
were so fashionable in that year. I had hardly done 
so before somebody tapped me on the shoulder. I 
turned to see a respectable-looking man who said 
sharply, T’ll trouble you to accompany me to the man¬ 
ager’s office.’ 

“I was dazed and bewildered, and the only thing I 
recollect was Jane whispering in my ear ‘Don’t give 
your name.’ She apparently was suspected as well, for 
we were both taken to a large office, where an elderly 
man interviewed us. ‘What is your name?’ he asked. 
The first name I could think of was my maid, Madge 
Benson. Of course, I was half mad. I should have 
told them that I was Lady Mary Danton and should 
have betrayed Jane upon the spot. My muff was 
searched and inside was found a large square of silk, 
which was the article Jane had put into it. 

“The elderly man retired with his companion to a 
corner of the room and I turned to Jane. ‘You must 
get me out of this, it is disgraceful of you, Jane. 
Whatever made you do it?’ 


220 


BLUE HAND 


Tor God’s sake, don’t say a word,’ she whispered. 
‘Whatever happens, I will take the responsibility. 
The magistrate-’ 

“ ‘The magistrate?’ I said in horror. ‘I shall not go 
before a magistrate?’ 

“ ‘You must, you must, it would break Jonathan’s 
heart and he would blame you if I came into court. 
Quick,’ she lowered her voice and began speaking 
rapidly. ‘I know the magistrate at Paddington and 
I will go to him and make a confession of the whole 
thing. When you come up to-morrow you will be dis¬ 
charged. Mary, you must do this for me, you must!’ 

“To cut a long story short, the manager came back 
and summoning a policeman, gave me into custody. 
I neither denied my crime nor in any way implicated 
Jane. I found afterwards that she explained to the 
proprietor that she was a distant relation of mine and 
she had met me in the shop by accident. How can I 
depict the horror of that night spent in a police court 
cell? In my folly I even thanked God that my name 
had not been given. The next morning I came before 
the magistrate, and did not doubt that Jane had kept 
her word. There was nobody in the court who knew 
me. I was brought up under the name of Madge Ben¬ 
son and the elderly man from Cla3meys went into the 
witness box and made his statement. He said that his 
firm had been losing considerable quantities through 
shop-lifting, and that he had every reason to believe 
I was an old hand. 

“Humiliating as this experience was, I did not for 
one moment doubt that the magistrate would find some 
excuse for me and discharge me. The shame of that 
moment as I stood there in the dock, with the curious 



BLUE HAND 


221 


crowd sneering at mel I cannot even speak of it to¬ 
day without my cheeks burning. The magistrate lis¬ 
tened in silence, and presently he looked at me over his 
glasses and I waited. 

There has been too much of this sort of thing 
going on,’ said he, ^and I am going to make an example 
of you. You will go to prison with hard labor for one 
month.’ 

“The court, the magistrate, the people, everything 
and everybody seemed to fade out, and when I came 
to myself I was sitting in a cell with the gaoler’s wife 
forcing water between my teeth. Jane had betrayed 
me. She had lied when she said she would go to the 
magistrate, but her greatest crime had yet to be com¬ 
mitted. 

“I had been a fortnight in Holloway Gaol when she 
came to visit me. I was not a strong woman and 
they put me to work with several other prisoners in 
a shed where the prison authorities were making ex¬ 
periments with dyes. You probably don’t know much 
about prisons,” she said, “but in every county gaol 
through England they make an attempt to keep the 
prisoners occupied with some one trade. In Maidstone 
the printing is done for all the prisons in England—I 
learnt a lot about things when I was inside Hollo¬ 
way! In Shepton Mallet the prisoners weave. In 
Exeter they make harness. In Manchester they weave 
cotton, and so on. 

“The Government was thinking of making one of 
the prisons a dye works. When I came to the little 
interview room to see Jane Groat, I had forgotten the 
work that had stained both my hands and it was not 
until I saw her starting at the hands gripping the bars. 


222 


BLUE HAND 


that I realized that the prison had placed upon me a 
mark which only time would eradicate. 

‘May, look I’ she stammered. ‘Your hands are 
blue 1’ 

“My hands were blue,” said Lady Mary bitterly. 
“The blue hand became the symbol of the injustice 
this woman had worked.” 

“I did not reproach her. I was too depressed, too 
broken to taunt her with her meanness and treachery. 
But she promised eagerly that she would tell my hus¬ 
band the truth, and told me that the baby was being 
taken care of and that she had sent it with her own 
maid to Margate. She would have kept the baby at 
her own house she said, and probably with truth, but 
she feared the people seeing the baby, would wonder 
where I was. If the baby was out of town, I too might 
be out of town. 

“And then occurred that terrible accident that sent, 
as I believed, my darling baby to a horrible death. 
Jane Groat saw the advantage which the death gave 
to her. She had discovered in some underhand fashion 
the terms of my husband’s will, terms which were un¬ 
known to me at the time. The moment Dorothy was 
gone she went to him with the s'tory that I had been 
arrested and convicted for shop lifting, and that the 
baby, whom it was my business to guard, had been left 
to the neglectful care of a servant and was dead. 

“The shock killed Jonathan. He was found dead in 
his study after his sister had left him. The day before 
I came out of prison I received a note from Jane tell¬ 
ing me boldly what had happened. She made no at¬ 
tempt to break to me gently the news of my darling 
baby’s death. The whole letter was designed to pro- 


BLUE HAND 


223 


duce on me the fatal effect that her news had produced 
on poor Jonathan. Happily I had some money and the 
property in the city, which my husband in a moment 
of generosity, which I am sure he never ceased to re¬ 
gret, had given to me. At my father’s suggestion I 
turned this into a limited liability company, the shares 
of which were held and are still held, by my father’s 
lawyer. 

‘‘Soon after my release my father inherited a con¬ 
siderable fortune, which on his death came to me. 
With that money I have searched the world for news 
of Dorothy, news which has always evaded me. The 
doubt in my mind as to whether Dorothy was dead or 
not concentrated on my mistrust of Jane. I believed, 
wrongly as I discovered, that Jane knew my girlie was 
alive. The blue hand was designed to terrorize her 
into a confession. As it happened, it only terrorized 
the one person in the world I desired to meet, my 
daughter I” 

Salter had listened in silence to the recital of this 
strange story which Lady Mary had to tell. 

“That clears up the last mystery,” he said. 


CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE 


E unice woke and opening her eyes, tried hard 
to remember what had happened. Her last 
clear recollection was of her room in Grosvenor 
Square. The last person, she shivered as she recalled 
the moment, was Higby Groat, and he was coming 
toward her—she sat up in bed and reeled with the pain 
in her head. Where was she? She looked round. 
The room was meanly furnished, a heavy green blind 
had been drawn over the small window, but there was 
enough light in the room to reveal the shabby ward¬ 
robe, the common iron bed on which she lay, the cheap 
washstand and the threadbare carpet that covered the 
floor. 

She was fully dressed and feeling horribly grimy. 
She almost wished at that moment she was back in 
Grosvenor Square, with its luxurious bathroom and its 
stinging shower-baths. 

But where was she? She got off the bed and stag¬ 
gering across the room she pulled aside the blind. 
She looked out upon the backs of drab buildings. She 
was in London, then. Only London could provide that 
view. She tried to open the door, it was locked—and 
as she turned the handle she heard footsteps outside. 

“Good morning,” said Digby Groat, unlocking the 
door. 

At first she did not recognize him in his chauffeur 
uniform, and without his mustache. 

“You?” she said in horror. “Where am I? Why 
have you brought me here?” 

224 


BLUE HANI? 


225 


“If I told you where you were you would be no 
wiser/^ said Digby coolly. “And the reason you are 
with me must be fairly obvious. Be sensible and have 
some breakfast.” 

He was looking at her with a keen professional eye. 
The effect of the drug had not worn off, he noticed, 
and she was not likely to give him a great deal of 
trouble. 

Her throat was parched and she was ravenously 
hungry. She sipped at the coffee he had made, and 
all the time her eyes did not leave his. 

“I’ll make a clean breast of it,” he said suddenly. 
“The fact is, I have got into very serious trouble and 
it is necessary that I should get away.” 

“From Grosvenor Square?” she opened her eyes 
wide in astonishment. “Aren’t you going back to Gros¬ 
venor Square?” 

He smiled. 

“It is hardly likely,” he said sarcastically, “your 
friend Steele-” 

“Is he there?” she cried eagerly, clasping her hands. 
“Oh tell me, please.” 

“If you expect me to sing your lover’s praises, you’re 
going to get a jar I” said Digby without heat. “Now 
eat some food and shut up.” His tone was quiet but 
menacing and she thought it best not to irritate him. 

She was only beginning to understand her own posi¬ 
tion. Digby had run away and taken her with him. 
Why did she go, she wondered? He must have drugged 
her! And yet—she remembered the hypodermic syr¬ 
inge and instinctively rubbed her arm. 

Digby saw the gesture and could almost read her 
thoughts. How lovely she was, he mused. No other 



226 


BLUE HAND 


woman in the world, after her experience of yesterday, 
could face the cold morning clear-eyed and flawless as 
she did. The early light was always kind to her, he 
remembered. The brightness of her soft eyes was un¬ 
diminished, untarnished was the clarity of her complex¬ 
ion. She was a thing of delight, a joy to the eye, even 
of this connoisseur of beauty, who was not easily moved 
by mere loveliness. 

“Eunice,’’ he said, “I am going to marry you.” 

“Marry me,” she said startled. “Of course you will 
do nothing of the kind, Mr. Groat. I don’t want to 
marry you.” 

“That is quite unimportant.” said Digby and leaning 
forward over the table, he lowered his voice. “Eunice, 
do you realize what I am offering you and the alterna¬ 
tive?” 

“I will not marry you,” she answered steadily, “and 
no threat you make will change my mind.” 

His eyes did not leave hers. 

“Do you realize that I can make you glad to marry 
me,” he said choosing his words deliberately, “and that 
I will stop at nothing—nothing?” 

She made no reply, but he saw her color change. 

“Now understand me, my dear, once and for all. It 
is absolutely necessary that I should marry you and you 
can either agree to a ceremony or you can take the con¬ 
sequence, and you know what that consequence will be.” 

She had risen to her feet and was looking down at 
him, and in her eyes was a contempt which would have 
wilted any other man than he. 

“I am in your power,” she said quietly, “and you 
must do what you will, but consciously I will never 
marry you. You were able to drug me yesterday, so 


BLUE HAND 


227 


that I cannot remember what happened between my 
leaving your house and my arrival in this wretched 
place, and possibly you can produce a similar condition, 
but sooner or later, Digby Groat, you will pay for all 
the wrong that you have done to the world. If I am 
amongst the injured people who will be avenged, that 
is God’s will.” 

She turned to leave the room, but he was at the door 
before her and pulled her arm violently towards him. 

“If you scream,” he said, “I will choke the life out 
of you.” 

She looked at him with contempt. 

“I shall not scream.” 

Nor did she even wince when the bright needle 
passed under the skin of her forearm. 

“If anything happens to me,” she said in a voice 
scarcely above a whisper, “I will kill myself in your 
presence, and with some weapon of yours.” Her voice 
faded away and he watched her. 

For the first tftne, he was afraid. She had touched 
him on a sensitive point, his own personal safety. She 
knew. What had put that idea into her head, he won¬ 
dered, as he watched the color come and go under the 
influence of the drug? And she would do it! He 
sweated at the thought. She might have done it here, 
and he could never have explained his innocence of her 
murder. 

“Phew!” said Digby Groat, and wiped his forehead. 

Presently he let her hand drop and guided her to a 
chair. 

Again her hand touched her arm tenderly and then: 

“Get up,” said Digby and she obeyed. “Now go to 
your room and stay there until I tell you I want you.” 


CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX 


HAT afternoon he had a visitor. He was, 



apparently, a gentleman who was anxious to 


rent a garage and he made one or two enqui¬ 


ries in the mews before he called at Digby Groat’s tem¬ 
porary home. Those people who troubled to observe 
him, noticed that he stayed a considerable time within 
this garage, and when he came out, he seemed satisfied 
with his negotiations. He was in truth Villa, who had 
come in answer to an urgent wire. 

‘Well,” said Digby, “is everything ready?” 

“Everything is ready, dear friend,” said Villa amia¬ 
bly. “I have the three men you want. Bronson is 
one, Fuentes and Silva are the others; they are known 
to you?” 

Digby nodded. Bronson was an army aviator who 
had left the service under a cloud. Digby had em¬ 
ployed him once before, to carry him to Paris—Bron¬ 
son ran a passenger carrying service which Digby had 
financed. The other two he knew as associates of Villa 
—Villa had queer friends. 

“Bronson will be in a field just outside Rugby. I 
told him to pretend he had made a false landing.” 

“Good,” said Digby. “Now you understand that I 
shall be traveling north in the disguise of an old 
woman. A car must be waiting a mile short of the sta¬ 
tion and Fuentes must reach the line with a red hand 
lamp and signal the train to stop. When it stops he 
can clear and by that time I shall be well away. I 


BLUE HAND 


229 


know Rugby well and this sketch map will tell you 
everything,” he handed a sheet of paper to Villa. 
^‘The car must be waiting at the end of the lane marked 
B. on the plan—the house—is it in good condition?” 

‘‘There^s a house on the property,” said Villa, ^‘but 
it is rather a tumbledown affair.” 

^^It can’t be worse than Kennett Hall,” said Digby. 
^That will do splendidly. You can keep the girl there 
all night and bring her to Kennett Hall in the morning. 
I will be there to receive you. To-morrow afternoon, 
just before sundown, we will take our final flight to the 
sea.” 

“What about Bronson?” 

“Bronson will have to be settled with,” said Digby, 
“but you can leave that to me.” 

He had his own views about Bronson which it was 
not expedient at the moment to discuss. 

“How are you going to get to the Hall?” asked the 
interested Villa. 

“You can leave that to me also,” said Digby with a 
frown. “Why are you so curious? I will tell you this 
much, that I intend taking on the car and traveling 
through the night.” 

“Why not take the girl by the car?” demanded the 
persistent Villa. 

“Because I want her to arrive at Kennett Hall by the 
only way that is safe. If the Hall is being watched 
there is a chance of getting away again before they 
close in on us. No, I will be there before daybreak 
and make a reconnaissance. In a case like this I can 
trust nobody but myself, and what is more. Villa, I 
know the people who are watching me. Now, do you 
understand?” 


230 


BLUE HAND 


‘Terfectly, my friend,” said Villa jovially, ^‘as to 
that little matter of sharing out-” 

“The money is here,” said Digby tapping his waist, 
“and you will have no cause to complain. There is 
much to be done yet—^we have not seen the worst of 
our adventures.” 

jK * He 

For Eunice Weldon the worst was, for the moment, 
a splitting headache which made it an agony to lift her 
head from the pillow. She seemed to have passed 
through the day in a condition which was neither wake¬ 
fulness nor sleep. She tried to remember what had 
happened and where she was, but the effort was 
so painful that she was content to lie with her throb¬ 
bing head, glad that she was left alone. Several times 
the thought of Digby Groat came through her 
mind, but she was so inexplicably confused with Jim 
Steele that she could not separate the two personal¬ 
ities. 

Where she was she neither knew nor cared. She 
was lying down and she was quiet—that satisfied her. 
Once she was conscious of a sharp stinging sensation 
in her right arm, and soon after she must have gone 
to sleep again, only to wake with her head racked with 
shooting pains as though somebody was driving red- 
hot nails into her brain. 

At last it became so unendurable that she groaned, 
and a voice near her—an anxious voice, she thought— 
said: 

“Have you any pain?” 

“My head,” she murmured. “It is dreadful I” 

She was conscious of a “tut” of impatience, and al- 



BLUE HAND 231 

most immediately afterwards somebody’s arm was 
round her neck and a glass was held to her lips. 

‘‘Drink this,” said the voice. 

She swallowed a bitter draught and made a grimace 
of distaste. 

“That was nasty,” she said. 

“Don’t talk,” said the voice. Digby was seriously 
alarmed at the condition in which he found her when he 
had returned from a visit of reconnaissance. Her 
color was bad, her breathing difficult and her pulse 
almost imperceptible. He had feared this, and yet he 
must continue his “treatment.” 

He looked down at her frowningly and felt some 
satisfaction when he saw the color creep back to the 
wax-like face, and felt the throb of the pulse under his 
fingers. 

As to Eunice, the sudden release from pain which 
came almost immediately after she had taken the 
draught, was so heavenly that she would have been 
on her knees in gratitude to the man who had accom¬ 
plished the miracle, and with relief from pain came 
sleep. 

Digby heaved a sigh of relief and went back to his 
work. It was very pleasant work for him, for the 
table was covered with little packages of five thousand 
dollar gold bills, for he had been successful in drawing 
the funds of the Thirteen and exchanging them for 
American money. He did not want to find himself in 
Brazil with a wad of English notes which he could not 
change because the numbers had been notified. 

His work finished, he strapped the belt about his 
waist and proceeded leisurely to prepare for the jour¬ 
ney. A gray wig changed the appearance of his face 


232 


BLUE HAND 


but he was not relying upon that disguise. Locking 
the door he stripped himself of his clothes and began 
to dress deliberately and carefully. 

It was nearly eight o’clock that night when Eunice 
returned to consciousness. Beyond an unquenchable 
thirst, she felt no distress. The room was dimly il¬ 
luminated by a small oil lamp that stood on the wash- 
stand, and the first thing that attracted her eye, after 
she had drunk long and eagerly from the glass of water 
that stood on the table by the side of the bed, was a 
beautiful evening dress of silver tissue which hung over 
the back of the chair. Then she saw pinned to the 
side of the pillow a card. It was not exactly the same 
shade of gray that Digby and she had received in the 
early stages of their acquaintance. Digby had failed 
to find the right color in his search at the local sta¬ 
tioners, but he had very carefully imitated the pen- 
print with which the mysterious woman in black had 
communicated her warnings, and the girl reading at 
first without understanding and then with a wildly 
beating heart, the message of the card saw her safety 
assured. 

“Dress in the clothes you will find here, and if you obey 
me without question I will save you from an ignominious 
fate. I will call for you but you must not speak to me. We 
are going to the north in order to escape Digby Groat.’* 

The message was signed with a rough drawing of the 
Blue Hand. 

She was trembling in every limb, for now the events 
of the past few days were slowly looming through the 
fog with which the drugs had clouded her brain. She 
was in the power of Digby Groat, and the mysterious 


BLUE HAND 


233 


woman in black was coming to her rescue. It did not 
seem possible. She stood up and almost collapsed, for 
her head was humming and her knees seemed incapable 
of sustaining her weight. She held on to the head of 
the bedstead for several minutes before she dared begin 
to dress. 

She forgot her raging thirst, almost forgot her weak¬ 
ness, as with trembling hands she fastened the beautiful 
dress about her and slipped on the silk stockings and 
satin shoes. Why did the mysterious woman in black 
choose this conspicuous dress, she wondered, if she 
feared that Digby Groat would be watching for her. 
She could not think consecutively. She must trust her 
rescuer blindly, she thought. She did her hair before 
the tiny mirror and was shocked to see her face. 
About her eyes were great dark circles; she had the 
appearance of one who was in a wasting sickness. 

‘‘I’m glad Jim can’t see you, Eunice Weldon,” she 
said, and the thought of Jim acted as a tonic and a 
spur. 

Her man! How she had hurt him. She stopped 
suddenly in the act of brushing her hair. She remem¬ 
bered their last interview. Jim said she was the 
daughter of Lady Mary Danton! It couldn’t be true, 
and yet Jim had said it, and that gave it authority 
beyond question. She stared at her reflection and then 
the effort of thought made her head whirl again and she 
sat down. 

“I mustn’t think, I mustn’t think,” she muttered, 
and yet thoughts and doubts, questions and specula¬ 
tions, crowded in upon her. Lady Mary Danton was 
her mother! She was the woman who had come into 
Jim’s flat. There was a tap at the door and she started. 


r 


234 BLUE HAND 

Was it Digby Groat? Digby who had brought her 
here? 

“Come in,” she said faintly. 

The door opened but the visitor did not enter, and 
she saw standing on the little landing, a woman in 
black, heavily veiled, who beckoned to her to follow. 
She rose unsteadily and moved toward her. 

“Where are we going?” she asked, and then, “Thank 
you, thank you a thousand times, for all you are doing 
for me!” 

The woman made no reply, but walked down the 
stairs, and Eunice went after her. 

It was a dark night; rain was falling heavily and 
the mews was deserted except for the taxicab which 
was drawn up at the door. The woman opened the 
door of the cab and followed Eunice into its dark in¬ 
terior. 

“You must not ask questions,” she whispered. 
“There is a hood to your coat. Pull it over your 
head.” 

What did it mean, Eunice wondered. 

She was safe, but why were they going out of Lon¬ 
don? Perhaps Jim awaited her at the end of the jour¬ 
ney and the danger was greater than she had imagined. 
Whither had Digby Groat gone, and how had this 
mysterious woman in black got him out of the way? 
She put her hand to her head. She must wait. She 
must have patience. All would be revealed to her in 
good time—and she would see Jim! 

The two people who were interested in the departure 
of the eleven forty-five train for the north, did not 
think it was unusual to see a girl in evening dress, 
accompanied by a woman in mourning, take their 


BLUE HAND 


235 


places in a reserved compartment. It was a train very 
popular with those visitors to London who wanted to 
see a theater before they left and the detective who 
was watching on the departure platform, scrutinizing 
every man who was accompanied by a woman, gave no 
attention to the girl in evening dress and, as they 
thought, her mother. Perhaps if she had not been so 
attired, they might have looked more closely—^Digby 
Groat was a great student of human nature. 

Lady Mary, in her restlessness, had come to Euston 
to supplement the watch of the detectives, and had 
passed every carriage and its occupants under review 
just before Eunice had taken her seat. 

^^Sit in the corner,” whispered the “woman,” “and 
do not look at the platform. I am afraid Groat will 
be on the look out for me.” 

The girl obeyed and Lady Mary, walking back see¬ 
ing the young girl in evening dre^s, whose face was 
hidden from her, never dreamt of making any closer 
inspection. The detective strolled along the platform 
with her towards the entrance. 

“I am afraid there will be no more trains to-night, 
my lady,” said the bearded officer, and she nodded. 
“I should think they’ve left by motor-car.” 

“Every road is watched now,” said Lady Mary 
quietly, “and it is impossible for them to get out of 
London by road.” 

At the moment the train, with a shill whistle, began 
to move slowly out of the station. 

“May I look now?” said Eunice, and the “woman” 
in black nodded. 

Eunice turned her head to the platform and then 
with a cry, started up. 


236 


BLUE HAND 


“Why, why,” she cried wildly, “there is Mrs. Fane— 
Lady Mary, my mother I ” 

Another instant, and she was dragged back to her 
seat and a hateful voice hissed in her ear: 

“Sit down!” 

The “woman” in black snapped down the blind and 
raised “her” veil. 

But Eunice knew that it was Digby Groat before she 
saw the yellow face of the man. 


CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN 


HE recognition had been mutual. Lady Mary 



had seen that white face, those staring eyes, 


JL for a second, and then the train had rolled 
quickly past her, leaving her momentarily paralyzed. 

‘There, there!” she gasped pointing. “Stop the 
train!” 

The detective looked round. There was no official 
in sight, and he tore back to the barriers, followed by 
Lady Mary. He could discover nobody with authority 
to act. 

“I’ll find the station master,” he cried, “can you tele¬ 
phone anywhere?” 

There was a telephone booth within a few yards and 
her first thought was of Jim. 

Jim was sitting in his room, his head in his hands, 
when the telephone bell rang, and he went listlessly 
to answer the call. It was Lady Mary speaking. 

“Eunice is on the northern train that has just left 
the station,” she said speaking rapidly. “We are try¬ 
ing to stop it at Willesden, but I am afraid it will be 
impossible. Oh, for God’s sake do something, Jim!” 

“On the northern train?” he gasped. “How long 
has it left?” 

“A few seconds ago. . . .” 

He dropped the receiver, threw open the door and 
ran downstairs. In that moment his decision had been 
taken. Like a flash there had come back to his mind 


238 


BLUE HAND 


a sunny afternoon when, with Eunice ^at his side, he 
had watched a daring little boy pulling himself across 
the lines by the telegraph wire which crossed the rail¬ 
way from one side to the other. He darted into the 
courtyard and as he mounted the wall he heard the 
rumble and roar of the train in the tunnel. 

It would be moving slowly because the gradient was 
a stiff one. From which tunnel would it emerge? 
There were two black openings and it might be from 
either. He must risk that, he thought, and reaching 
up for a telegraph wire, swung himself over the cop¬ 
ing. The wires would be strong enough to hold a boy. 
Would they support him? He felt them sagging and 
heard an ominous creak from the post which was in 
the courtyard, but he must risk that too. Hand over 
hand he went, and presently he saw with consterna¬ 
tion the gleam of a light from the further tunnel. In 
frantic haste he pulled himself across. There was no 
time for caution. The engine, laboring heavily, had 
passed before he came above the line. Now he was 
over the white-topped carriages, and his legs were 
curled up to avoid contact with them. He let go and 
dropped on his foot. The movement of the carriage 
threw him down and he all but fell over the side, but 
gripping to a ventilator, he managed to scramble to his 
knees. 

As he did so he saw the danger ahead. The train 
was runnning into a second tunnel. He had only time 
to throw himself flat on the carriage, before he was all 
but suffocated by the sulphur fumes which filled the 
tunnel. He was on the right train, he was certain of 
that, as he lay gasping and coughing, but it would need 


BLUE HAND 239 

all his strength to hold himself in position when the 
driver began to work up speed. 

He realized, when they came out again into the open, 
that it was raining and raining heavily. In a few 
minutes he was wet through, but he clung grimly to 
his perilous hold. Would Lady Mary succeed in stop¬ 
ping the train at Willesden? The answer came when 
they flashed through that junction, gathering speed at 
every minute. 

The carriages rocked left and right and the rain- 
splashed roofs were as smooth as glass. It was only 
by twining his legs about one ventilator and holding on 
to the other, that he succeeded in retaining his hold at 
all. But it was for her sake. For the sake of the 
woman he loved, he told himself, when utter weari¬ 
ness almost forced him to release his grip. Faster 
and faster grew the speed of the train and now in addi¬ 
tion to the misery the stinging rain caused him, he was 
bombarded by flying cinders and sparks from the en- 
gine. 

His coat was smoldering in a dozen places, in spite 
of its sodden condition, his eyes were grimed and 
smarting with the dust which the rain washed into them 
and the agony of the attacks of cramp which were 
becoming more and more frequent, was almost unen¬ 
durable. But he held on as the train roared through 
the night, dashing through little wayside stations, div¬ 
ing into smoky tunnels, and all the time rocking left 
and right, so that it seemed miraculous that it was able 
to keep the rails. 

It seemed a century before there came from the dark¬ 
ness ahead a bewildering tangle of red and green lights. 


240 


BLUE HAND 


They were reaching Rugby and the train was already 
slowing. Suddenly it stopped with unusual sudden¬ 
ness and Jim was jerked from his hold. He made a 
wild claw at the nearest ventilator, but he missed his 
hold and fell with a thud down a steep bank, rolling 
over and over . . . another second, and he fell with a 
splash into water. 

The journey had been one of terror for Eunice Dan- 
ton. She understood now the trick that had been 
played upon her. Digby Groat had known she would 
never leave willingly and had feared to use his dope 
lest her appearance betrayed him. He had guessed 
that in his disguise of the woman in black, she would 
obey him instantly and now she began to understand 
why he had chosen evening dress for her. 

‘‘Where are you taking me?” she asked. 

He had drawn the blinds of the carriage and was 
smoking a cigarette. 

“If I had known you would ask that question,” he 
said sarcastically, “I would have had a guide book pre¬ 
pared. As it is, you must possess your soul in pa¬ 
tience, and wait until you discover your destination.” 

There was only one carriage on the train which was 
not a corridor car, and Digby had carefully chosen 
that for his reservation. It was a local car that would 
be detached at Rugby, as he knew, and the possibility 
of an interruption was remote. Once or twice he had 
looked up to the ceiling and frowned. The girl, who 
had caught a scratching sound as though somebody 
was crawling along the roof of the carriage, watched 
him as he pulled down the window and thrust out head 
and shoulders. He drew in immediately, his face wet 
with rain. 


BLUE HAND 


241 


“It is a filthy night,” he said as he pulled down the 
blinds again. “Now, Eunice, be a sensible girl. There 
are worse things that could happen to you than to 
marry me.” 

“I should like to know what they are,” said Eunice 
calmly. The effect of the drug had almost worn off 
and she was near to her normal self. 

“I have told you before,” said Digby, puffing a 
ring of smoke to the ceiling, “that if your imagination 
will not supply you with a worse alternative, you are 
a singularly stupid young person, and you are not 
stupid,” he stopped. Suddenly he changed his tone 
and throwing the cigarette on to the ground, he came 
over to her and sat by her side. “I want you, Eunice,” 
he said, his voice trembling and his eyes like fiery 
stars. “Don’t you understand I want you? That you 
are necessary to me. I couldn’t live without you now. 
I would sooner see you dead and myself dead, too, 
than hand you to Jim Steele, or any other man.” His 
arm was about her, his face so close to hers that she 
could feel his quick breath upon her cheek. “You 
understand?” he said in a low voice. “I would sooner 
see you dead. That is an alternative for you to pon¬ 
der on.” 

‘‘There are worse things than death.” 

“I’m glad you recognize that,” said Digby, recover¬ 
ing his self-possession with a laugh. He must not 
frighten her at this stage of the flight. The real diffi¬ 
culties of the journey were not yet passed. 

As to Eunice, she was thinking quickly. The train 
must stop soon, she thought, and though he kill her, 
she would appeal for help. She hated him now, with 
a loathing beyond description; seeing in him the ugly 


242 


BLUE HAND 


reality, her soul shrank in horror from the prospect 
he had opened up to her. His real alternative she 
knew and understood only too well. It was not death 
—that would be merciful and final. His plan was to 
degrade her so that she would never again hold up her 
head, nor meet Jim’s tender eyes. So that she would, 
in desperation, agree to marriage to save her name 
from disgrace, and her children from shame. 

She feared him more now in his grotesque woman 
garb, with that smile of his playing upon his thin lips, 
than when he had held her in his arms, and his hot 
kisses rained on her face. It was the brain behind 
those dark eyes, the cool, calculating brain that had 
planned her abduction with such minute care, that she 
had never dreamt she was being duped—this was what 
terrified her. What scheme had he evolved to escape 
from Rugby, where he must know the station officials 
would be looking for him? 

Lady Mary had seen her and recognized her and 
would have telegraphed to the officials to search the 
train. The thought of Lady Mary started a new line 
of speculation. Her mother I That beautiful woman 
of whom she had been jealous. A smile dawned on her 
face, a smile of sheer joy and happiness, and Digby 
Groat, watching her, wondered what was the cause. 

She puzzled him more than he puzzled her. 

‘What are you smiling at?” he asked curiously, and 
as she looked at him the smile faded from her face. 
“You are thinking that you will be rescued at Rugby,” 
he bantered. 

“Rugby,” she said quickly. “Is that where the 
train stops?” and he grinned. 

“You’re the most surprising person. You are con- 


BLUE HAND 


243 


stantly trapping me into giving you information,” he 
mocked her. “Yes, the train will stop at Rugby.” 
He looked at his watch and she heard him utter an 
exclamation. “We are nearly there,” he said, and then 
he took from the little silk bag he carried in his role of 
an elderly woman, a small black case, and at the sight 
of it Eunice shrank back. 

“Not that, not that,” she begged. “Please don’t do 
that.” 

He looked at her. 

“Will you swear that you will not make any attempt 
to scream or cry out so that you will attract attention?” 

“Yes, yes,” she said eagerly. “I will promise you.” 

She could promise that with safety, for if the people 
on the platform did not recognize her, her case was 
hopeless. 

“I will take the risk,” he said. “I am probably a 
fool, but I trust you. If you betray me, you will not 
live to witness the success of your plans, my friend.” 


CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT 


S HE breathed more freely when she saw the little 
black case dropped into the bag, and then the 
speed of the train suddenly slackened and 
stopped with such a violent jerk that she was almost 
thrown from the seat. 

‘Ts there an accident?” 

‘T don^t think so,” said Digby showing his teeth 
mirthlessly. He had adjusted his wig and his bonnet 
and now he was letting down the window and looking 
out into the night. There came to his ears a sound of 
voices up the line and a vista of signal lamps. He 
turned to the girl as he opened the door. 

“Come along,” he commanded sharply and she stood 
aghast. 

“We are not in the platform.” 

“Come out quickly,” he snarled. “Remember you 
promised.” 

With difficulty she lowered herself in the darkness 
and his arm supported her as she dropped to the per¬ 
manent way. Still clutching her arm they stumbled 
and slid down the steep embankment and came pres¬ 
ently to a field of high grass. Her shoes and stockings 
were sodden by the rain which was falling more 
heavily than ever, and she could scarcely keep her 
feet, but the hand that gripped her arm did not relax, 
nor did its owner hesitate. He seemed to know the 
way they were going, though to the girl it was impos¬ 
sible to see a yard before her. 


BLUE HAND 


245 


The pitiless rain soaked her through and through 
before she had half crossed the field. She heard Digby 
curse as he caught his foot in his skirt, and at any 
other time she might have laughed, at the picture she 
conjured up of this debonair man, in his woman’s dress. 
But now she was too terrified to be even amused. 

But she had that courage which goes with great fear: 
the soul courage which rises superior to the weakness 
of the flesh. 

Once Digby stopped and listened. He heard noth¬ 
ing but the patter of the rain and the silvery splash of 
the water as it ran from the bushes. He sank on his 
knees and looked along the ground, striving to get a 
skyline, but the railway embankment made it impos¬ 
sible. The train was moving on when the girl looked 
back, and she wondered why it had stopped so provi¬ 
dentially at that spot. 

‘T could have sworn I heard somebody squelching 
through the mud,” said Digby. “Come along, there 
is the car.” 

She caught the faint glimmer of a light and immedi¬ 
ately afterwards they left the rough and soggy fields, 
and reached the hard road, where walking was some¬ 
thing more of a pleasure. 

The girl had lost one shoe in her progress and now 
she kicked off the other. It was no protection from 
the rain for the thin sole was soaked through, so that 
it was more comfortable walking in her stockinged 
feet. 

The distance they had traversed was not far. They 
came from the side lane on to the main road, where a 
closed car was standing, and Digby hustled her in, 
saying a few low words to the driver, and followed her. 


246 


BLUE HAND 


“Phew, this cursed rain,” he said, and added with 
a laugh, “I ought not to complain. It has been a 
very good friend to me.” 

Suddenly there was a gleam of light in the car. He 
had switched on a small electric lamp. 

“Where are your shoes?” he demanded. 

“I left them in the field,” she said. 

“Damn you, why did you do that?” he demanded 
angrily. “You think you were leaving a clue for your 
lover, I suppose?” 

“Don’t be unreasonable, Mr. Groat. They weren’t 
my shoes, so they couldn’t be very much of a clue for 
him. They were wet through and as I had lost one, 
I kicked off the other.” 

He did not reply to this, but sat huddled in a corner 
of the car, as it ran along the dark country road. 

They must have been traveling for a quarter of an 
hour, when the car stopped before a small house and 
Digby jumped out. She would have followed him, but 
he stopped her. 

“I will carry you,” he said. 

“It is not necessary,” Eunice replied coldly. 

“It is very necessary to me,” he interrupted her. 
“I don’t want the marks of your stockinged feet show¬ 
ing on the roadside.” 

He lifted her in his arms; it would have been foolish 
of her to have made resistance, and she suffered con¬ 
tact with him until he set her down in a stone passage 
in a house that smelt damp and musty. 

“Is there a fire here?” he spoke over his shoulders 
to the chauffeur. 

“Yes, in the back room. I thought maybe you’d 
want one, boss.” 


BLUE HAND 


247 


‘Xight another,” said Digby. He pushed open the 
door and the blaze from the fire was the only light in 
the room. 

Presently the driver brought in an oil motor-lamp. 
In its rays Digby was a ludicrous spectacle. His gray 
wig was soaked and clinging to his face; his dress was 
thick with mud, and his light shoes were in as deplor¬ 
able a condition as the girPs had been. 

She was in very little better case, but she did not 
trouble to think about herself and her appearance. 
She was cold and shivering and crept nearer to the 
fire, extending her chilled hands to the blaze. 

Digby went out. She heard him still speaking in 
his low mumbling voice, but the man who replied was 
obviously not the chauffeur, though his voice seemed 
to have a faintly familiar ring. She wondered where 
she had heard it before, and after a while she identi¬ 
fied its possessor. It was the voice of the man whom 
she and Jim had met coming down the steps of the 
house in Grosvenor Square. 

Presently Digby came back carrying a suit case. 

“It is lucky for you, my friend, that I intended 
you should change your clothes here,” he said as he 
threw the case down. “You will find everything in 
there you require.” 

He pointed to a bed which was in the corner of the 
room. 

“We have no towels, but if you care to forego your 
night's sleep, or sleep in blankets, you can use the 
sheets to dry yourself,” he said. 

“Your care for me is almost touching,” she said 
scornfully and he smiled. 

“I like you when you are like that,” he said in 


248 


BLUE HAND 


admiration. is the spirit in you and the devil in 
you that appeal to me. If you were one of those pul¬ 
ing, whining misses, all shocks and shivers, I would 
have been done with you a long time ago. It is be¬ 
cause I want to break that infernal pride of yours and 
because you offer me a contest that you stand apart 
from, and above, all other women.’’ 

She made no reply to this, and waited until he had 
gone out of the room before she looked for some means 
of securing the door. The only method apparently 
was to place a chair under the door-knob, and this she 
did, undressing quickly and utilizing the sheet as 
Digby had suggested. 

The windows were shuttered and barred. The room 
itself, except for the bed and the chair, was unfur¬ 
nished and dilapidated. The paper was hanging in 
folds from the damp walls and the under part of the 
grate was filled with the ashes of fires that had burnt 
years before and the smell of decay almost nauseated 
her. 

Was there any chance of escape, she wondered? 
She tried the shuttered window, but found the bars 
were so thick that it was impossible to wrench them 
from their sockets without the aid of a hammer. She 
did not dream that they would leave the door un¬ 
guarded, but it was worth trying, and she waited until 
the house seemed quiet before she made her attempt. 

Stepping out into the dark passage, she almost trod 
on the hand of Villa, who was lying asleep in the 
passage. He was awake instantly. 

‘^Do you want anything. Miss?” he asked. 

“Nothing,” she replied, and went back to the room. 


BLUE HAND 249 

It was useless, useless, she thought bitterly, and she 
must wait to see what the morrow brought forth. 

Her principal hope lay in her—her mother. How 
difficult that word was to say! How much more diffi¬ 
cult to associate a name, the mention of which brought 
up the picture of the pleasant-faced woman who had 
been all that a mother could be to her in South Africa, 
with that gracious lady she had seen in Jim Steele^s 
flat! 

She lay down, not intending to sleep, but the warmth 
of the room and her own tiredness, made her doze. 
It seemed she had not slept more than a few minutes 
when she woke to find Villa standing by her side with a 
huge cup of cocoa in his hand. 

‘‘I^m sorry I can’t give you tea, miss,” he said. 

“What time is it?” she asked in surprise. 

“Five o’clock. The rain has stopped and it is a 
good morning for flying.” 

“For flying?” she repeated in amazement. 

“For flying,” said Villa, enjoying the sensation he 
had created. “You are going a little journey by aero¬ 
plane.” 


CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE 


J IM STEELE had had as narrow an escape from 
death as he had experienced in the whole course 
of his adventurous life. It was not a river into 
which he tumbled, but a deep pool, the bottom of which 
was a yard thick with viscid mud in which his feet and 
legs were held as by hidden hands. 

Struggle as he did, he could not release their grip, 
and he was on the point of suffocation when his groping 
hands found a branch of a tree which, growing on the 
edge of the pond, had drooped one branch until its 
end was under water. With the strength of despair, 
he gripped, and drew himself up by sheer force of 
muscle. He had enough strength left to drag himself 
to the edge of the pond, and there he lay, oblivious to 
the rain, panting and fighting for his breath. 

In the old days of the war, his comrades of the Scout 
Squadron used to tick off his lives on a special chart 
wliich was kept in the messroom. He had exhausted 
the nine lives with which they had credited him, when 
the war ended, and all further risk seemed at an end. 

‘‘There go two more!” he gasped to himself. His 
words must have been inspired, for as he drew himself 
painfully to his bruised knees, he heard a voice not a 
dozen yards away and thanked God again. It was 
Digby Groat speaking. 

“Keep close to my side,” said Digby. 

“I will,” muttered Jim and walked cautiously in 
the direction where he had heard the voice, but there 
250 


BLUE HAND 


251 


was nobody in sight. The train which had been sta¬ 
tionary on the embankment above—he had forgotten 
the train—began to move, and in the rumble of its 
wheels, any sound might well be drowned. 

He increased his pace, but still he did not catch sight 
of the two people he was tracking. Presently he heard 
footsteps on a roadway, but only of a man. 

They had reached better going than the field, thought 
Jim, and moved over in the same direction. He found 
the lane and as he heard the footsteps receding at the 
far end, he ran lightly forward hoping to overtake them 
before they reached the car, the red rear-light of which 
he could see. The wheels were moving as he reached 
the open road and he felt for his revolver. If he could 
burst the rear tires he could hold them. Jim was a 
deadly shot Once, twice, he pressed the trigger, but 
there was no more than a ‘‘click,” as the hammer struck 
the sodden cartridge, and before he could extract the 
dud and replace it, the car was out of range. 

He was aching in every limb. His arms and legs 
were cramped painfully but he was not deterred. 
Putting the useless pistol in his pocket, he stepped off 
at a jog trot, following in the wake of the car. 

He was a magnificent athlete and he had, too, the 
intangible gift of class, that imponderable quality 
which distinguishes the great race horse from the 
merely good. It served a triple purpose, this exer¬ 
cise. It freed the cramped muscles, it warmed his 
chilled body and it cleared the mind. He had not 
been running for ten minutes before he had forgotten 
that within the space of an hour he had nearly been 
hurled to death from the roof of a train and had all but 
choked to death in the muddy depths of a pond. 


252 


BLUE HAND 


On, on, without either slackening or increasing his 
pace, the same steady lop-lopping stride that had 
broken the heart of the Oxford crack when he had 
brought victory to the light blue side at Queen’s Park. 

It was half-an-hour before he came in sight of the 
car, and he felt well rewarded, although he had scarcely 
glimpsed it before it had moved on again. 

Why had it stopped, he wondered, checking his pace 
to a walk. It may have been tire trouble. On the 
other hand they might have stopped at a house, one 
of Digby Groat’s numerous depots through the 
country. 

He saw the house at last and went forward with 
greater caution, as he heard a man’s voice asking the 
time. 

He did not recognize either Villa nor Bronson, for 
though he had heard Villa speak, he had no very keen 
recollection of the fact. “What to do?” murmured 
Jim. 

The house was easily approachable, but to rush in 
with a defective revolver, would help neither him nor 
the girl. If that infernal pond had not been there! 
He groaned in the spirit. That he was wise in his 
caution he was soon to discover. Suddenly a man 
loomed up before him and Jim stopped dead on the 
road. The man’s back was toward him and he was 
smoking as he walked up and down taking his consti¬ 
tutional, for the rain had suddenly ceased. He passed 
so close as he turned back, that had he stretched out 
his hand toward the bushes under which Jim was 
crouching, he would not have failed to touch him: 

In a little while a low voice called: 

“Bronson!” 


BLUE HAND 253 

“Bronson!” thought Jim. “I must remember that 
name!” 

The man turned and walked quickly back to the 
house, and the two talked in a tone so low that not a 
syllable reached Jim. 

At the risk of discovery he must hear more, and 
crept up to the house. There was a tiny porch before 
the door and under this the two men were standing. 

“I will sleep in the passage,” said the deep-throated 
Villa. “You can take the other room if you like.” 

“Not me,” said the man called Bronson. “I’d rather 
stand by the machine all night. I don’t want to sleep 
anyway.” 

“What machine?” wondered Jim. “Was there an¬ 
other motor-car here?” 

“Will the boss get there to-night?” asked Villa. 

“I can’t tell you, Mr. Villa,” replied Bronson. “He 
might not, of course, but if there are no obstacles, 
he’ll be at the Hall before daybreak. It is not a very 
good road.” 

At the Hall! In a flash it dawned upon Jim. 
Kennett Hall! The pile of buildings which Mrs. 
Weather wale had pointed out to him as the one-time 
ancestral home of the Dantons. What a fool he had 
been not to remember that place when they were dis¬ 
cussing the possible shelters that Digby Groat might 
use. 

Both Villa and Bronson were smoking now and the 
fragrance of the former man’s cigar came to the envi¬ 
ous Jim. 

“She won’t give any trouble, will she, Mr. Villa?” 
asked Bronson. 

“Trouble?” Villa laughed. “Not she. She’ll be 


254 


BLUE HAND 


frightened to death. I don’t suppose she’s ever been 
in an aeroplane before.” 

So that was the machine. Jim’s eyes danced. An 
aeroplane . . . where? He strained his eyes to be¬ 
yond the house but it was too dark to distinguish any¬ 
thing. 

“Nothing funny will happen to that machine of 
yours in the rain?” 

“Oh no,” said Bronson. “I have put the sheet over 
the engines. I have frequently kept her out all night.” 

Then you’re a bad man, thought Jim, to whom an 
aeroplane was a living, palpitating thing. So Eunice 
was there and they were going to take her by aeroplane 
somewhere. What should he do? There was time for 
him to go back to Rugby and inform the police, but— 

“Where is Fuentes?” asked Bronson. “Mr. G. said 
he would be here.” 

“He’s along the Rugby Road,” replied Villa. “I 
gave him a signal pistol to let us know in case they 
send a police car after us. If you aren’t going to bed, 
Bronson, I will, and you can wait out here and keep 
your eye open for any danger.” 

Fuentes was in it, too, and his plan to get back to 
Rugby would not work. Nevertheless, the watchful 
Fuentes had allowed Jim to pass, though it was likely 
that he was nearer to Rugby than the place where he 
had come out on to the road. They might not get 
the girl away on the machine in the darkness, but who 
knows what orders Digby Groat had left for her dis¬ 
posal in case a rescue was attempted? He decided to 
wait near, hoping against hope that a policeman cyclist 
would pass. 

Villa struck a match to start a new cigar and in its 


BLUE HAND 


255 


light Jim had a momentary glimpse of the two men. 
Bronson was in regulation air-kit. A leather coat 
reached to his hips, his legs were encased in leather 
breeches and top-boots. He was about his height, 
Jim thought, as an idea took shape in his mind. What 
an end to that adventure! Jim came as near to being 
excited as ever he had been in his life. 

Presently Villa yawned. 

going to lie down in the passage, and if that 
dame comes out, she’s going to have a shock,” he said. 
‘‘Good-night. Wake me at half-past four.” 

Bronson grunted something and continued his 
perambulations up and down the road. Ten minutes 
passed, a quarter-of-an-hour, half-an-hour, and the 
only sound was the dripping of the rain from the trees, 
and the distant clatter and rumble of the trains as they 
passed through Rugby. 

To the north were the white lights of the railway 
sidings and workshops, to the west, the faint glow in 
the sky marked the position of a town. Jim pulled 
his useless pistol from his pocket and stepped on to the 
roadway, crouching down, so that when he did rise, 
he seemed to the astonished Bronson to have sprung 
out of the ground. Something cold and hard was 
pushed under the spy’s nose. 

“If you make a sound, you son of a thief,” said 
Jim, “I’ll blow your face off! Do you understand 
that?” 

“Yes,” muttered the man, shivering with fright. 

Jim’s left hand gripped his collar. The automatic 
pistol under his nose was all too obvious, and Felix 
Bronson, a fearful man for whom the air alone had 
no terror, was cowed and beaten. 


256 


BLUE HAND 


‘^Where is the bus?” asked Jim in a whisper. 

‘In the field behind the house,” the man answered 
in the same tone. “What are you going to do? Who 
are you? How did you get past-” 

“Don’t ask so many questions,” said Jim, “lead the 
way—not that way,” as the man turned to pass the 
house. 

“I shall have to climb the fence if I don’t go that 
way,” said Bronson sullenly. 

“Then climb it,” said Jim, “it will do you good, you 
lazy devil!” 

They walked across the field, and presently Jim saw 
a graceful outline against the dark sky. 

“Now take off your clothes,” he said peremptorily. 

“What do you mean?” demanded the startled Bron¬ 
son. “I can’t undress here!” 

“I’m sorry to shock your modesty, but that is just 
what you are going to do,” said Jim, “and it will be 
easier to undress you alive than to undress you dead, as 
I know from my sorrowful experience in France.” . 

Reluctantly Bronson stripped his leather coat. 

“Don’t drop it on the grass,” said Jim, “I want 
something dry to wear.” 

In the darkness Bronson utilized an opportunity 
that he had already considered. His hand stole 
stealthily to the hip pocket of his leather breeches, but 
before it closed on its objective, Jim had gripped it 
and spun him round, for Jim possessed other qualities 
of the cat besides its lives. 

“Let me see that lethal weapon. Good,” said Jim 
and flung his own to the grass. “I am afraid mine is 
slightly damaged, but I’ll swear that yours is in good 
trim. Now, off with those leggings and boots.” 



BLUE HAND 257 

‘‘I shall catch my death of cold,” Bronson^s teeth 
were chattering. 

“In which case,” said the sardonic Jim, “I shall send 
a wreath, but I fear you are not born to die of cold in 
the head, but of a short sharp jerk to your cervical 
vertebra.” 

“What is that?” asked Bronson. 

“It is German for neck,” said Jim, “and if you 
think I am going to stand here giving you lectures on 
anatomy whilst you deliver the goods, you have made 
a mistake-^tripl” 


CHAPTER FORTY 


NDER menace of Jim Steele^s pistol, Mr. Bron¬ 



son stripped and shivered. The morning was 


raw and the clothes that Jim in his mercy 
handed to the man to change were not very dry. Bron¬ 
son said as much, but evoked no sympathy from Jim. 
He stood shivering and shaking in the wet clothes, 
whilst his captor strapped his wrists behind. 

‘^Just like they do when they hang you,’’ said Jim 
to cheer him up. ^‘Now, my lad, I think this hand¬ 
kerchief round your mouth and a nearly dry spot 
under a hedge is all that is required to make the end 
of a perfect night.” 

‘‘You’re damned funny,” growled Bronson in a fury, 
“but one of these days-” 

“Don’t make me sing,” said Jim, “or you’ll be 
sorry.” 

He found him a spot under a hedge, which was fairly 
dry and sheltered from observation, and there he en¬ 
tertained his guest until the gray in the sky warned 
him that it was time to wake Villa. 

Mr. Villa woke with a curse. 

“Come in and have some cocoa.” 

“Bring it out here,” said Jim. He heard the man 
fumbling with the lock of the door and raised his pistol. 

Something inside Jim Steele whispered: 

“Put that pistol away,” and he obeyed the impulse, 
as with profit he had obeyed a hundred others. 



BLUE HAND 


259 


Men who fight in the air and who win their battles 
in the great spaces of the heavens, are favored with 
instincts which are denied to the other mortals who 
walk the earth. 

He had time to slip the pistol in his pocket and pull 
the goggles down over his eyes, before the door opened 
and Villa sleepily surveyed him in the half-light. 

^‘Hullo, you’re ready to fly, are you?” he said with a 
guffaw. ^‘Well, I shan’t keep you long.” 

Jim strolled away from the house, pacing the road 
as Bronson had done the night before. 

What had made him put the pistol away, he won¬ 
dered? He took it out furtively and slipped the cover. 
It was unloaded I 

He heard the man calling. 

^^Put it down,” he said, when he saw the cup in his 
hand. 

He drank the cocoa at a gulp, and making his way 
across the field to the aeroplane, he pulled off the water¬ 
proof cover, tested the engine and pulled over the prop. 

Eunice had swallowed the hot cocoa and was waiting 
when Villa came in. What the day would bring forth 
she could only guess. Evidently there was some rea¬ 
son why Digby Groat should not wait for her and 
amongst the many theories she had formed was one 
that he had gone on in order to lead his pursuers from 
her track. She felt better now than she had done since 
she left the house in Grosvenor Square, for the effect 
of the drug had completely gone, save for a tiredness 
which made walking a wearisome business. Her mind 
was clear and the demoralizing fearfulness which the 
presence of Digby evoked had altogether dissipated. 

“Now, young miss, are you ready?” asked Villa. 


260 


BLUE HAND 


He was, at any rate. He wore a heavy coat and upon 
his head was a skin cap. This with his hairy face and 
his broad stumpy figure gave him the appearance of a 
Russian in winter attire. Why did he wrap himself 
up so on a warm morning, she wondered? He carried 
another heavy coat in his hand and held it up for her 
to put on. 

‘‘Hurry up, I can’t wait for you all day. Get that 
coat on.” 

She obeyed. 

“I am ready,” she said coldly. 

“Now, my dear, step lively!” 

Jim, who had taken his place in the pilot’s seat heard 
Villa’s deep voice and looking round saw the woman 
he loved. 

She looked divinely beautiful by the side of that 
squat, bearded man who was holding her forearm and 
urging her forward. 

“Now, up with you.” 

He pushed her roughly into one of the two seats be¬ 
hind the pilot, and Jim dared not trust himself to look 
back. 

“I’ll swing the prop, for you, Bronson,” said Villa, 
making his way to the propeller, and Jim, whose face 
was almost covered by the huge, fur-lined goggles, 
nodded. The engine started with a splutter and a 
roar and Jim slowed it. 

“Strap the lady,” he shouted above the sound of 
the engine, and Villa nodded and climbed into the 
fuselage with extraordinary agility for a man of his 
build. 

Jim waited until the broad strap was buckled about 
the girl’s waist, and then he let out the engine to its 


BLUE HAND 


261 


top speed. It was ideal ground for taking off, and the 
plane ran smoothly across the grass, faster and faster 
with every second. And then with a touch of the 
lever, Jim set the elevator down and the girl suddenly 
realized that the bumping had stopped and all con¬ 
scious motion had ceased. The scout had taken the 
air. 

3|e sk 3|e * * 

Eunice had never flown in an aeroplane before, and 
for a moment she forgot her perilous position in the 
fascination of her new and wonderful experience. The 
machine did not seem to leave the earth. Rather it 
appeared as though the earth suddenly receded from 
the aeroplane and was sinking slowly away from them. 
She had a wonderful feeling of exhilaration as the 
powerful scout shot through the air at a hundred miles 
an hour, rising higher and higher as it circled above the 
field It had left, a maneuver which set Villa wondering, 
for Bronson should have known the way back to Ken- 
nett Hall without bothering to find his landmark. 

But Bronson so far from being at the wheel, at that 
moment was lying bound hands and feet beneath a bush 
in the field below, and had Villa looked carefully 
through his field glasses, he would not have failed to 
see the figure of the man wearing Jim’s muddy clothes. 
Villa could not suspect that the pilot was Jim Steele, 
the airman whose exploits in the abstract he had ad¬ 
mired, but whose life he would not at this moment have 
hesitated to take. 

‘Tt is lovely!” gasped Eunice, but her voice was 
drowned in the deafening thunder of the engines. 

They were soaring in great circles and above were 
floating the scarfs of mist that trailed their raveled 


262 


BLUE HAND 


edges to the sun which tinted them so that it seemed 
to her the sky’s clear blue was laced with golden tissue. 
And beneath she saw a world of wonder; here was 
spread a marvelous mosaic, green and brown and gray, 
each little pattern rigidly defined by darkened lines, 
fence and hedge and wall. She saw the blood red 
roof of house and the spread of silver lakes irregular 
in shape, and to her eye like gouts of mercury that 
some enormous hand had shaken haphazard on the 
earth. 

“Glorious!” her lips said, but the man who sat be¬ 
side her had no eye for the beauty of the scene. 

Communication between the pilot and his passengers 
was only possible through the little telephone, the re¬ 
ceiver of which Jim had mechanically strapped to his 
ear, and after a while he heard Villa’s voice asking: 

“What are you waiting for? You know the way?” 

Jim nodded. 

He knew the way back to London just as soon as he 
saw the railway. 

The girl looked down in wonder on the huge checker 
board intercepted by tiny white and blue ribbons. 

They must be roads, and canals, she decided, and 
those little green and brown patches were the fields 
and the pastures of Warwickshire. How glorious it 
was on this early summer morning, to be soaring 
through the cloud-wisps that flecked the sky, wrack 
from the storm that had passed over-night. And 
how amazingly soothing was the loneliness of wings! 
She felt aloof from the world and all its meanness. 
Digby Groat was no more than that black speck she 
could see, seemingly stationary on the white tape of 
a road. She knew that speck was a man and he was 


BLUEHAND 263 

walking. And within that circle alone was love and 
hate, desire and sacrifice. 

Then her attention was directed to Villa. He was 
red in the face and shouting something into the tele¬ 
phone receiver, something she could not hear, for the 
noise of the engines was deafening. 

She saw the pilot nod and turn to the right and the 
movement seemed to satisfy Villa, for he sank back 
in his seat. 

Little by little, the nose of the aeroplane came back 
to the south, and for a long time Villa did not realize 
the fact. It was the sight of the town which he rec¬ 
ognized, that brought the receiver of the telephone to 
his lips. 

“Keep to the right, damn you, Bronson. Have you 
lost your sense of direction?’’ 

Jim nodded, and again the machine banked over, 
only to return gradually to the southerly course, but 
now Villa, who had detected the maneuver, was alert. 

“What is wrong with you, Bronson?” and Jim heard 
the menace in his voice. 

“Nothing, only I am avoiding a bad air current,” he 
answered and exaggerated as the voice was by the tele¬ 
phone, Villa did not dream that it was anybody but 
Bronson who was speaking. 

Jim kept a steady course westward, and all the time 
he was wondering where his destination was supposed 
to have been. He was a raving lunatic, he thought, 
not to have questioned Bronson before he left him, 
but it had never occurred to him that his ignorance on 
the subject would present any difficulties. 

He was making for London, and to London he in¬ 
tended going. That had been his plan from the first. 


264 


BLUE HAND 


and now, without disguise, he banked left, accelerated 
his engines and the scout literally leapt forward. 

“Are you mad?’’ It was Villa’s voice in his ear, 
and he made no reply, and then the voice sank 
to a hiss: “Obey my instructions or we crash to¬ 
gether!” 

The barrel of an automatic was resting on his shoul¬ 
der. He looked round, and at that moment Eunice 
recognized him and gave a cry. 

Villa shot a swift glance at her, and then leapt for¬ 
ward and jerked at Jim’s shoulders, bringing his head 
round. 

“Steele!” he roared and this time the pistol was 
under Jim’s ear. “You obey my instructions, do you 
hear?” 

Jim nodded. 

“Go right, pick up Oxford and keep it to your left 
until I tell you to land.” 

There was nothing for it now but to obey. But Jim 
did not fear. Had the man allowed him to reach Lon¬ 
don it might have been well for all parties. As Villa 
was taking an aggressive line, and had apparently 
^recognized him, there could be only one end to this 
adventure, pistol or no pistol. He half twisted in his 
narrow seat, and looked back to Eunice with an encour¬ 
aging smile, and the look he saw in her eyes amply 
repaid him for all the discomfort he had suffered. 

But it was not to look at her eyes that he had turned. 
His glance lingered for a while on her waist, and then 
on the waist of Villa, and he saw all that he wanted 
to know. He must wait until the man put his pistol 
away—at present Villa held the ugly looking automatic 
in his hand. They passed over Oxford, a blur of gray 


BLUEHAND 265 

and green, for a mist lay upon the city, making it diffi¬ 
cult to pick out the buildings. 

Soon Jim^s attention was directed elsewhere. One 
of his engines had begun to miss and he suspected 
water was in the cylinder. Still, he might keep the 
machine going for a while. A direction was roared 
in his ear, and he bore a little more west. It seemed 
that the engine difficulty had been overcome, for she 
was running sweetly. Again he glanced back. The 
pistol was tucked in the breast of Villa’s leather jacket, 
and probably would remain there till the end of the 
journey. To wait any longer would be madness. 

Eunice watching the scene below in a whirl of won¬ 
der, suddenly felt the nose of the aeroplane dive down, 
as though it were aiming directly for earth. She ex¬ 
perienced no sense of fear, only a startled wonder, for 
as suddenly the nose of the aeroplane came up again 
with a rush and the sky seemed to turn topsy-turvy. 
There was a tremendous strain at the leather belt 
about her waist, and looking “down” she found she 
was staring at the sky I Then she was dimly con¬ 
scious of some commotion on her right and shut her 
eyes in instinctive apprehension. When she opened 
them again. Villa was gone! Jim had looped the loop, 
and unprepared for this form of attack. Villa, who was 
not secured to the machine, had lost his balance and 
fallen. Down, down, the tiny fly shape twirled and 
rolled with outstretched arms and legs, tragically comic 
in its grotesqueness. . . . 

Jim turned his head away and this time swung com¬ 
pletely round to the girl, and she saw his lips move 
and his eyes glance at the telephone which the man 
had left. 


266 


BLUE HAND 


She picked up the mouthpiece with trembling hands. 
Something dreadful had happened. She dare not look 
down, she would have fainted if she had made the 
attempt. 

^'What has happened?” she asked in a quavering 
voice. 

‘‘Villa has parachuted to the ground,” lied Jim sooth¬ 
ingly. “Don’t worry about him. He’s not in any 
danger—in this world,” he added under his breath. 

“But, Jim, how did you come here?” 

“I’ll have to explain that later,” he shouted back, 
“my engine is misbehaving.” 

This time the trouble was much more serious, and 
he knew that the journey to London he had contem¬ 
plated would be too dangerous to attempt. He was 
not at sufficient height to command any ground he 
might choose, and he began to search the countryside 
for a likely landing. Ahead of him, fifteen miles away, 
was a broad expanse of green, and a pin-point flicker 
of white caught his eye. It must be an aerodrome, he 
thought, and the white was the ground signal showing 
the direction of the winds. He must reach that haven, 
though had he been alone, he would not have hesitated 
to land on one of the small fields beneath him. 

Here the country is cut up into smaller pastures than 
in any other part of England, and to land on one of 
those fields with high hedges, stiff and stout stone 
walls would mean the risk of a crash, and that was a 
risk he did not care to take. 

As he drew nearer to the green expanse, he saw that 
he had not been mistaken. The sheet was obviously 
planted for the purpose of signaling and a rough at¬ 
tempt had been made to form an arrow. He shut off 


BLUE HAND 


267 


his engines and began to glide down and the wheels 
touched the earth so lightly that Eunice did not realize 
that the flight was ended. 

‘‘Oh it was wonderful, Jim,” she cried as soon as she 
could make herself heard, “but what happened to that 
poor man? Did you-” 

There was a flippant reply on Jim^s lips, but when 
he saw the white face and the sorrowful eyes, he de¬ 
cided it was not a moment for flippancy. He who had 
seen so many better men than Villa die in the high 
execution of their duty, was not distressed by the pass¬ 
ing of a blackguard who would have killed him and 
the girl without mercy. 

He lifted Eunice and felt her shaking under the coat 
she wore. And so they met again in these strange 
circumstances, after the parting which she had thought 
was final. They spoke no word to one another. He 
did not kiss her, nor did she want that evidence of his 
love. His very presence, the grip of his hands, each 
was a dear caress which the meeting of lips could not 
enhance. 

“There^s a house here,” said Jim recovering his 
breath. “I must take you there and then go and tele¬ 
graph dear old Salter.” 

He put his arm about her shoulder and slowly they 
walked across the grasses gemmed with wild flowers. 
Knee-deep they paced through the wondrous meadow- 
land, and the scent of the red earth was incense to the 
benediction which had fallen on them. 

“This house doesn’t seem to be occupied,” said Jim, 
“and it is a big one, too.” 

He led the way along a broad terrace and they came 
to the front of the building. The door stood open and 



268 


BLUE HAND 


there the invitation ended. Jim looked into a big 
dreary barn of a hall, uncarpeted and neglected. 

“I wonder what place this is,^’ said Jim puzzled. 

He opened a door that led from the hall to the left. 
The room into which he walked was unfurnished and 
bore the same evidence of decay as the hall had shown. 
He crossed the floor and entered a second room, with 
no other result. Then he found a passage way. 

“Is anybody here?” he called, and turned immedi¬ 
ately. He thought he heard a cry from Eunice, whom 
he had left outside on the terrace admiring the beauty 
of the Somerset landscape. “Was that you, Eunice?” 
he shouted and his voice reverberated through the silent 
house. 

There was no reply. He returned quickly by the 
way he had come, but when he reached the terrace 
Eunice was gonel He ran to the end, thinking she 
had'Strolled back to the machine, but there was no 
sign of her. He called her again, at the top of his 
voice, but only the echoes answered. Perhaps she had 
gone into the other room. He opened the front door 
and again stepped in. 

As he did so Xavier Silva crept from the room on 
the left and poised his loaded cane. Jim heard the 
swish of the stick and half turning took the blow short 
on his shoulder. For a second he was staggered and 
then driving left and right to the face of the man he 
sent him spinning. 

Before he could turn, the noose of a rope dropped 
over his head and he was jerked to the ground fighting 
for breath. 


CHAPTER FORTY-ONE 


W HILST Jim had been making his search of the 
deserted house, Eunice had strolled to the 
edge of the terrace, and leaning on the 
broken balustrade, was drinking in the beauty of the 
scene. Thin wraiths of mist still lingered in the pur¬ 
ple shadows of the woods and lay like finest muslin in 
the hollows. In the still air the blue gray smoke of 
the cottagers’ fires showed above the tree tops, and the 
sun had touched the surface of a stream that wound 
through a distant valley, so that it showed as a thread 
of bubbling gold amidst the verdant green. 

Somebody touched her gently on the shoulder. She 
thought it was Jim. 

^Tsn’t it lovely, Jim?” 

^‘Very lovely, but not half as lovely as you, my dear.” 
She could have collapsed at the voice. Swinging 
round she came face to face with Digby Groat, and 
uttered a little cry. 

‘Tf you want to save Steele’s life,” said Digby in a 
low, urgent tone, “you will not cry out, you under¬ 
stand?” 

She nodded. 

He put his arm round her shoulder and she shivered, 
but it was no caress he offered. He was guiding her 
swiftly into the house. He swung open a door and 
pushing her through, followed. 

There was a man in the room, a tall, dour man, who 
held a rope in his hand. 

269 


270 


BLUE HAND 


“Wait, Masters,” whispered Digby. “We^ll get him 
as he comes back.” He had heard the footsteps of 
Jim in the hall and then suddenly there was a scuffle. 

Eunice opened her lips to cry a warning, but Digby’s 
hand covered her mouth and his face was against her 
ear. 

“Remember what I told you,” he whispered. 

There was a shout outside; it was from Xavier, and 
Masters dashed out ahead of his employer. Jim’s 
back was turned to the open door, and Digby signaled. 
Immediately the rope slipped round Jim’s neck and he 
was pulled breathlessly to the ground, his face grew 
purple and his hands were tearing at the cruel noose. 
They might have choked him then and there, but that 
Eunice, who had stood for a moment paralyzed, flew 
out of the room, and thrusting Masters aside, knelt 
down and with her own trembling hands released the 
noose about her lover’s neck. 

“You beasts, you beasts 1” she cried, her eyes flash¬ 
ing her hate. 

In an instant Digby was on her and had lifted her 
clear. 

“Rope him,” he said laconically and gave his atten¬ 
tion to the struggling girl. For now Eunice was no 
longer quiescent. She fought with all her might, strik¬ 
ing at his face with her hands, striving madly to free 
herself of his grip. 

“You little devil I” he cried breathlessly, when he 
had secured her wrists and had thrust her against the 
wall. There was an ugly red mark where her nails 
had caught his face, but in his eyes there was nothing 
but admiration. 

“That is how I like you best,” he breathed. “My 


BLUE HAND 271 

dear, I have never regretted my choice of you! I 
regret it least at this moment!” 

“Release my hands!” she stormed. She was panting 
painfully and judging that she was incapable of fur¬ 
ther mischief, he obeyed. 

“Where have you taken Jim? What have you done 
with him?” she asked, her wide eyes fixed on his. 
There was no fear in them now. He had told her that 
he had seen the devil in her. Now it was fully aroused. 

“We have taken your young friend to a place of 
safety,” said Digby. “What happened this morning, 
Eunice?” 

She made no reply. 

“Where is Villa?” 

Still she did not answer. 

“Very good,” he said, “if you won’t speak. I’ll find 
a way of making your young man very valuable.” 

“You’d make him speak!” she said scornfully. 
“You don’t know the man you’re dealing with. I 
don’t think you’ve ever met that type in the drawing¬ 
rooms you visited during the war. The real men were 
away in France, Digby Groat. They were running 
the risks you shirked, facing the dangers you feared. 
If you think you can make Jim Steele talk, go along 
and try!” 

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he said, white 
to the lips, for her calculated insult had touched him on 
the raw. “I can make him scream for mercy.” 

She shook her head. 

“You judge all men by yourself,” she said, “and 
all women by the poor little shop-girls you have broken 
for your amusement.” 

“Do you know what you’re saying?” he said, quiver- 


272 


BLUE HAND 


ing with rage. ^‘You seem to forget that I am-” 

‘‘I forget what you are!” she scoffed. The color 
had come back to her face and her eyes were bright 
with anger. ^‘You’re a half-breed, a man of no coun¬ 
try and no class, and you have all the attributes of a 
half-breed. Digby Groat, a threatener of women and 
an assassin of men, a thief who employs other thieves 
to take the risks whilst he takes the lion’s share of the 
loot. A quack experimenter, who knows enough of 
medicines to drug women and enough of surgery to tor¬ 
ture animals—I have no doubt about youT 

For a long time hQ*^ould not speak. She had in¬ 
sulted him beyond forgiveness, and with an uncanny 
instinct had discovered just the things to say that 
would hurt him most. 

‘Tut out your hands,” he almost yelled, and she 
obeyed, watching him contemptuously as he bound 
them together with the cravat which he had torn from 
his neck. 

He took her by the shoulders, and pushing her feet 
from her urgently, sat her in a corner. 

“I’ll come back and deal with you, my lady,” he 
growled. 

Outside in the hall Masters was waiting for him and 
the big uncouth man was evidently troubled. 

“Where have you put him?” 

“In the east wing, in the old butler’s rooms,” he said, 
ill-at-ease. “Mr. Groat, isn’t this a bad business?” 

“What do you mean, bad business?” snarled Digby. 

“I’ve never been mixed up in this kind of thing be¬ 
fore,” said Masters. “Isn’t there a chance that they 
will have the law on us?” 



BLUE HAND 


273 


“Don^t you worry, you’ll be well paid,” snapped his 
employer, and was going away when the man detained 
him. 

‘^Being well paid won’t keep me out of prison, if this 
is a prison job,” he said. ‘‘I come of respectable peo¬ 
ple, and I’ve never been in trouble all my life. I’m 
well-known in the country, and although I’m not very 
popular in the village, yet nobody can point to me and 
say that I’ve done a prison job.” 

“You’re a fool,” said Digby, glad to have someone to 
vent his rage upon. “Haven’t I told you that this man 
has been trying to run off with my wife?” 

“You didn’t say anything about her being your wife,” 
said Masters, shaking his head and looking suspiciously 
at the other, “and besides, she’s got no wedding ring. 
That’s the first thing I noticed. And that foreign man 
hadn’t any right to strike with his cane—it might have 
killed him.” 

“Now look here. Masters,” said Digby, controlling 
himself, for it was necessary that the man should be 
humored, “don’t trouble your head about affairs that 
you can’t understand. I tell you this man Steele is a 
scoimdrel who has run away with my wife and has 
stolen a lot of money. My wife is not quite normal, 
and I am taking her away for a voyage . . .” he 
checked himself. “Anyway, Steele is a scoundrel,” he 
said. 

“Then why not hand him over to the police,” said the 
uneasy Masters, “and bring him before the justices? 
That seems to me the best thing to do, Mr. Groat. 
You’re going to get a bad name if it comes out that you 
treated this gentleman as roughly as you did.” 


274 


BLUE HAND 


‘‘I didn’t treat him roughly,” said Digby coolly, “and 
it was you who slipped the rope round his neck.” 

“I tried to get it over his shoulders,” explained Mas¬ 
ters hastily, “besides, you told me to do it.” 

“You’d have to prove that,” said Digby, knowing 
that he was on the right track. “Now listen to me. 
Masters. The only person who has committed any 
crime so far has been you!” 

“Me?” gasped the man. “I only carried out your 
orders.” 

“You’d have to prove that before your precious jus¬ 
tices,” said Digby with a laugh and dropped his hand 
on the man’s shoulder, a piece of familiarity which 
came strangely to Masters, who had never known his 
employer in such an amiable mood. “Go along and 
get some food ready for the young lady,” he said, “and 
if there is any trouble. I’ll see that you get clear of it. 
And here,” he put his hand in his pocket and took out 
a wad of notes, picked two of them out and pressed 
them into the man’s hand. “They are twenty-pound 
bank-notes, my boy, and don’t forget it and try to 
change them as fivers. Now hurry along and get your 
wife to find some refreshment for the young lady.” 

“I don’t know what my wife’s going to say about it,” 
grumbled the man, “when I tell her-” 

“Tell her nothing,” said Digby sharply. “Damn 
you, don’t you understand plain English?” 

At three o’clock that afternoon a hired car brought 
two passengers before the ornamental gate of Kennett 
Hall, and the occupants, failing to secure admission, 
climbed the high wall and came trudging up toward 
the house. 


BLUE HAND 


275 


Digby saw them from a distance and went down to 
meet the bedraggled Bronson and the dark-skinned 
Spaniard who was his companion. They met at the 
end of the drive, and Bronson and his master, speaking 
together, made the same inquiry in identical terms: 

‘‘Where is Villa?” 


CHAPTER FORTY-TWO 


HE room into which Jim was thrust differed 



little from those chambers he had already 


1 seen, save that it was smaller. The floor 
boards were broken and there were holes in the wains¬ 
cot which he understood long before he heard the scam¬ 
per of the rats’ feet. 

He was trussed like a fowl, his hands were so tightly 
corded together that he could not move them and his 
ankles roped so that it was next to impossible to lever 
himself to his feet. 

‘‘What a life!” said Jim philosophically, and pre¬ 
pared himself for a long, long wait. 

He did not doubt that Digby would leave immedi¬ 
ately, and Jim faced the prospect of being left alone in 
the house, to make his escape or die. He was fully 
determined not to die, and already his busy mind had 
evolved a plan which he would put into execution as 
soon as he knew he was not under observation. 

But Digby remained in the house, as he was to learn. 

An hour passed, and then the door was snapped open 
and Digby came in, followed by a man at the sight of 
whom Jim grinned. It was Bronson, looking ludicrous 
in Jim’s clothes, which were two sizes too large for him. 

“They discovered you, did they, Bronson?” he 
chuckled. “Well, here am I as you were, and pres¬ 
ently somebody will discover me and then I shall be 
calling on you in Dartmoor some time this year, to see 
how you are getting along. Nice place, Dartmoor, and 


BLUE HAND 


277 


the best part of the prison is Block B. Central heat¬ 
ing, gas, hot water laid on, and every modern con¬ 
venience except tennis-” 

‘‘Where is Villa?’’ asked Digby. 

“I don’t know for a fact,” said Jim pleasantly, “but 
I can guess.” 

“Where is he?” roared Bronson, his face purple with 
rage. 

Jim smiled, and in another minute the man’s open 
hand had struck him across the face, but still Jim 
smiled, though there was something in his eyes that 
made Bronson quail. 

“Now, Steele, there’s no sense in your refusing to 
answer,” said Digby. “We want to know what you 
have done with Villa? Where is he?” 

“In hell,” said Jim calmly. “I’m not a whale on 
theology. Groat, but if men are punished according to 
their deserts, then undoubtedly your jovial pal is in the 
place where the bad men go and there is little or no 
flying.” 

“Do you mean that he is dead?” asked Digby livid. 

“I should think he is,” said Jim carefully. “We 
were over five thousand feet when I looped the loop 
from sheer happiness at finding myself once again with 
a joy-stick in my hand, and I don’t think your friend 
Villa had taken certain elementary precautions. At 
any rate, when I looked round, where was Villa? He 
was flying through the air on his own, Groat, and my 
experience is that when a man starts flying without his 
machine, the possibility of making a good landing is 
fairly remote.” 

“You killed him,” said Bronson between his teeth, 
“damn you!” 


278 


BLUE HAND 


“Shut up,” snapped Digby. “We know what we 
want to know. Where did you throw him out?” 

“Somewhere around,” said Jim carelessly. “I chose 
a deserted spot. I should have hated it if he had hurt 
anybody when he fell.” 

Digby went out of the room without a word, and 
locked the door behind him, and did not speak until he 
was back in the room where he had left Villa less than 
a week before. He shuddered as he thought of the 
man^s dreadful end. 

The two Spaniards were there, and they had busi¬ 
ness which could not be postponed. Digby had hoped 
they would rely on his promise and wait until he had 
reached a place of safety before they insisted on a 
share-out, but they were not inclined to place too high 
a value upon their chief’s word. Their share was a 
large one, and Digby hated the thought of paying them 
off, but it had to be done. He had still a considerable 
fortune. No share had gone to the other members of 
the gang. 

“What are your plans?” asked Xavier Silva. 

“I’m going to Canada,” replied Digby. “You may 
watch the agony columns of the newspapers for my ad¬ 
dress.” 

The Spaniard grinned. 

“I shall be watching for something more interesting,” 
he said, “for my friend and I are returning to Spain. 
And Bronson, does he go with you?” 

Digby nodded. 

It was necessary, now that Villa had gone, to take 
the airman into his confidence. He had intended leav¬ 
ing his shadow in the lurch, a fact which Bronson did 
not suspect. He sent the two men into the grounds 


BLUE HAND 


279 


to give the machine an examination, and Jim, sitting 
in his room, heard the noise of the engine and struggled 
desperately to free his hands. If he could only get up 
to his feetl All his efforts must be concentrated upon 
that attempt. 

Presently the noise ceased; Xavier Silva was a clever 
mechanic, and he had detected that something was 
wrong with one of the cylinders. 

“Tuning up!’^ murmured Jim. 

So he had more time than he had hoped for. 

He heard a step on the stone terrace, and through 
the window caught a glimpse of Bronson passing. 
Digby had sent the man into the village to make judi¬ 
cious inquiries as to Viliams fate. 

Curiously enough, the three men who had watched 
the approaching aeroplane from the terrace of Kennett 
Hall, had been unconscious of Villa’s doom, although 
they were witnesses of the act. They had seen the loop 
in the sky and Digby had thought no more than that 
Bronson was showing off to the girl, and had cursed him 
roundly for his folly. Villa’s body must be near at 
hand. How near, Bronson was to discover at the vil¬ 
lage inn. 

After the man had left, Digby went to look at his 
second prisoner, and found her walking up and down 
the room into which she had been put for safety. 

“Did you like your aeroplane journey, Eunice?” he 
asked blandly. 

She did not reply. 

“Rather thrilling and exciting, wasn’t it? And were 
you a witness to the murder of my friend Villa?” 

She looked up at him. 

“I don’t remember that your friend Villa was mur- 


280 


BLUE HAND 


dered,” she said, ready to defend Jim of any charge 
that this man might trump up against him. 

He read her thoughts. 

‘‘Don’t worry about Mr. Steele,” he said drily. “I 
am not charging him with murder. In fact, I have no 
time. I am leaving to-morrow night as soon as it is 
dark, and you are coming with me by aeroplane.” 

She did not answer this. 

“I am hoping that you won’t mind a brief emersion 
in the sea,” he said. “I cannot guarantee that we can 
land on my yacht.” 

She turned round. On his yacht! That, then was 
the plan. She was to be carried off to a yacht, and 
the yacht was to take her—where? 

There was a clatter of feet in the outer room and 
he opened the door. One glance at Bronson’s face told 
him that he had important news. 

“Well?” he asked sharply. 

“They’ve found Villa’s body. I saw a reporter at 
the inn,” said the man breathlessly. 

“Do they know who it is?” asked Digby, and Bron¬ 
son nodded. 

“What?” asked Digby startled. “They know his 
name is Villa?” 

Again the man nodded. 

“They found a paper in his pocket, a receipt for the 
sale of a yacht,” he said, and through the open door¬ 
way, Eunice saw the man shrink back. 

“Then they know about the yacht!” 

The news confounded him and shook him from his 
calm. If the police knew about the yacht his diffi¬ 
culties became all but insuperable, and the danger 


BLUE HAND 


281 


which threatened him loomed up like a monstrous, 
overwhelming shape. Digby Groat was not built to 
meet such stunning emergencies and he went all to 
pieces under the shock. 

Eunice watching him through the open door saw his 
pitiable collapse. In a second he had changed from 
the cool, self-possessed man who had sneered at danger 
into a babbling, fretful child who cursed and wrung his 
hands, issuing incoherent orders only to countermand 
them before his messenger had left the room. 

‘‘Kill Steeled’ he screamed. “Kill him, Bronson. 
Damn him—no, no, stay! Get the machine ready . . . 
we leave to-night.” 

He turned to the girl, glaring at her. 

“We leave to-night, Eunice! To-night you and I 
will settle accounts!” 



CHAPTER FORTY-THREE 


H er heart sank and it came to her, with terrify¬ 
ing force, that her great trial was near at 
hand. She had taunted Digby with his cow¬ 
ardice, but she knew that he would show no mercy to 
her, and unwillingly she had played into his hands by 
admitting that she knew she was the heiress to the Dan- 
ton fortune and that she had known his character, and 
yet had elected to stay in his house. 

The door was slammed and locked, and she was left 
alone. Later she heard for the second time the splutter 
and crash of the aeroplane^s engines as the Spaniard 
tuned them up. 

She must get away—she must, she must! She 
looked round wildly for some means of escape. The 
windows were fastened. There was no other door from 
the room. Her only hope was Jim, and Jim, she 
guessed, was a close prisoner. 

Digby lost no time. He dispatched Silva in the car, 
telling him to make the coast as quickly as possible, 
and to warn the captain of the Pealigo to be ready to re¬ 
ceive him that night. He wrote rapidly a code of sig¬ 
nals. When in sight of the sea Bronson was to fire a 
green signal light, to which the yacht must respond. A 
boat must be lowered on the shoreward side of the 
yacht ready to pick them up. After the messenger had 
left he remembered that he had already given the same 
orders to the captain, and that it was humanly impos¬ 
sible for the Spaniard to reach the yacht that night. 

282 


BLUE HAND 


283 


Digby had in his calmer moments made other prep¬ 
arations. Two inflated life-belts were taken to the 
aeroplane and tested, signal pistols, landing lights, and 
other paraphernalia connected with night flying were 
stowed in the fuselage. Bronson was now fully oc¬ 
cupied with the motor of the aeroplane, for the trouble 
had not been wholly eradicated, and Digby Groat paced 
up and down the terrace of the house, fuming with im¬ 
patience and sick with fear. 

He had not told the girl to prepare, that must be left 
to the very last. He did not want another scene. For 
the last time he would use his little hypodermic syringe 
and the rest would be easy. 

Fuentes joined him on the terrace, for Fuentes was 
curious for information. 

^‘Do you think that the finding of Villa’s body will 
bring them after us here?” 

“How do I know?” snapped Digby, “and what does 
it matter anyway? We shall be gone in an hour.” 

“You will,” said the Spaniard pointedly, “but I 
shan’t. I have no machine to carry me out of the 
country and neither has Xavier, though he is better off 
than I am—he has the car. Couldn’t you take me?” 

“It is utterly impossible,” said Digby irritably. 
“They won’t be here to-night and you needn’t worry 
yourself. Before the morning you will have put a long 
way between you and Kennett Hall.” 

He spoke in Spanish, the language which the man 
was employing, but Fuentes was not impressed. 

“What about the man?” He jerked his thumb to the 
west wing, and a thought occurred to Digby. 

Could he persuade his hitherto willing slave to carry 
out a final instruction? 


284 


BLUE HAND 


is your danger/’ he said. ‘‘Do you realize, my 
dear Fuentes, that this man can bring us all to destruc¬ 
tion? And nobody knows he is here, except you and 
me.” 

“And that ugly Englishman,” corrected Fuentes. 

“Masters doesn’t know what has happened to him. 
We could tell him that he went with us! ” 

He looked at the other keenly, but Fuentes was pur¬ 
posely stupid. 

“Now what do you say, my dear Fuentes,” said 
Digby, “shall we allow this man to live and give evi¬ 
dence against us, when a little knock on the head would 
remove him forever?” 

Fuentes turned his dark eyes to Digby’s, and he 
winked. 

“Well, kill him, my dear Groat,” he mocked. “Do 
not ask me to stay behind and be found with the body, 
for I have a wholesome horror of English gaols, and an 
unspeakable fear of death.” 

“Are you afraid?” asked Digby. 

“As afraid as you,” said the Spaniard. “If you wish 
to kill him, by all means do so. And yet, I do not 
know that I would allow you to do that,” he mused, 
“for you would be gone and I should be left. No, no, 
we will not interfere with our courageous Englishman. 
He is rather a fine fellow.” 

Digby turned away in disgust. 

The “fine fellow” at that moment had, by almost 
superhuman effort, raised himself to his feet. It had 
required something of the skill of an acrobat and the 
suppleness and ingenuity of a contortionist, and it in¬ 
volved supporting himself with his head against the 


BLUE HAND 


285 


wall for a quarter of an hour whilst he brought his feet 
to the floor, but he had succeeded. 

The day was wearing through and the afternoon was 
nearly gone before he had accomplished this result. 
His trained ear told him that the aeroplane was now 
nearly ready for departure, and once he had caught a 
glimpse of Digby wearing a lined leather jacket. But 
there was no sign of the girl. As to Eunice, he stead¬ 
fastly kept her out of his thoughts. He needed all his 
courage and coolness, and even the thought of her, 
which, in spite of his resolution flashed across his mind, 
brought him agonizing distress. 

He hopped cautiously to the window and listened. 
There was no sound and he waited until Bronson—he 
guessed it was Bronson—started the engines again. 
Then with his elbow he smashed out a pane of glass, 
leaving a jagged triangular piece firmly fixed in the 
ancient putty. Carefully he lifted up his bound hands, 
straining at the rope which connected them with the 
bonds about his feet, and which was intended to prevent 
his raising his hands higher than the level of his waist 

By straining at the rope and standing on tiptoe, he 
brought the end of the connecting link across the sharp 
jagged edge of the glass. Two strokes, and the rope 
was^evered. His hands were still bound and to cut 
through them without injury to himself was a delicate 
operation. Carefully he sawed away and first one and 
then the other cord was cut through. His hands were 
red and swollen, his wrists had no power until he had 
massaged them. 

He snapped off the triangular piece of glass and ap¬ 
plied it to the cords about his feet and in a minute he 


286 


BLUE HAND 


was free. Free, but in a locked room. Still, the win¬ 
dow sash should not prove an insuperable obstacle. 
There was nothing which he could use as a weapon, but 
his handy feet smashed at the frame, only to discover 
that they were of iron. Jonathan Danton’s father had 
had a horror of burglars and all the window frames on 
the lower floor had been made in a foundry. The door 
was the only egress left and it was too stout to smash. 

He listened at the key-hole. There was no sound. 
The light was passing from the sky and night was com¬ 
ing on. They would be leaving soon, he guessed, and 
grew frantic. Discarding all caution, he kicked at the 
panels, but they resisted his heavy boots and then he 
heard a sound that almost stopped his heart beating. 

A shrill scream from Eunice. Again and again he 
flung his weight at the door, but it remained immov¬ 
able, and then came a shout from the ground outside. 
He ran to the window and listened. 

“They are coming, the police!” 

It was the Spaniard’s throbbing voice. He had run 
until he was exhausted. Jim saw him stagger past the 
window and heard Digby say something to him sharply. 
There was a patter of feet and silence. 

Jim wiped the sweat from his forehead with the 
sleeve of his coat and looked round desperately for some 
means of getting out of the room. The fireplace! It 
was a big, old-fashioned fire-basket, that stood on four 
legs in a yawning gap of chimney. He looked at it; it 
was red with rust and it had the appearance of being 
fixed, but he lifted it readily. Twice he smashed at 
the door and the second time it gave way, and drop¬ 
ping the grate with a crash he flew down the passage out 
of the house. 


BLUE HAND 


287 


As he turned the corner he heard the roar of the 
aeroplane and above its drone the sound of a shot. He 
leapt the balustrade, sped through the garden and came 
in sight of the aeroplane as it was speeding from him. 

God I” said Jim with a groan, for the machine 
had left the ground and was zooming steeply up into 
the darkening sky. 

And then he saw something. From the long grass 
near where the machine had been a hand rose feebly 
and fell again. He ran across to where he had seen 
this strange sight. In a few minutes he was kneeling 
by the side of Fuentes. The man was dying. He 
knew that long before he had seen the wound in his 
breast. 

‘‘He shot me, senor,” gasped Fuentes, “and I was 
his friend. ... I asked him to take me to safety . . . 
and he shot mel^’ 

The man was still alive when the police came on the 
spot; still alive when Septimus Salter, in his capacity 
of Justice of the Peace, took down his dying statement. 

“Digby Groat shall hang for this, Steele,” said the 
lawyer, but Jim made no reply. He had his own idea 
as to how Digby Groat would die. 


CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR 


HE lawyer explained his presence without pre¬ 
liminary and Jim listened moodily. 



Jm^ ‘‘I came with them myself because I know 
the place,” said Mr. Salter, looking at Jim anxiously. 
“You look ghastly, Steele. Can’t you lie down and get 
some sleep?” 

“I feel that I shall never sleep until I have got my 
hand on Digby Groat. What was it you saw in the 
paper, tell me again? How did they know it was 
Villa?” 

“By a receipt in his pocket,” replied Salter. “It ap¬ 
pears that Villa, probably acting on behalf of Digby 
Groat, had purchased from Maxilla the Brazilian gam¬ 
bler, his yacht, the Pealigo -” 

Jim uttered a cry. 

“That is where he has gone,” he said. “Where is 
the Pealigo 

“That I have been trying to find out,” replied the 
lawyer shaking his head, “but nobody seems to know. 
She left Havre a few days ago, but what her destina¬ 
tion was, nobody knows. She has certainly not put in 
to any British port so far as we can ascertain. Lloyds 
were certain of this, and every ship, whether it is a 
yacht, a liner, or a cargo tramp, is reported to Lloyds.” 

“That is where he has gone,” said Jim. 

“Then she must be in port,” said old Salter eagerly. 
“We can telegraph to every likely place-” 




BLUE HAND 


289 


Jim interrupted him with a shake of his head. 

‘‘Bronson would land on the water and sink the ma¬ 
chine. It is a very simple matter/’ he said. “I have 
been in the sea many times and there is really no dan¬ 
ger, if you are provided with life-belts, and are not 
strapped to the seat. It is foul luck your not coming 
before.” 

He walked wearily from the comfortable parlor of 
the inn where the conversation had taken place. 

“Do you mind if I am alone for a little while—I 
want to think?” he said. 

He turned as he was leaving the room. 

“In order not to waste time, Mr. Salter,” he said 
quietly, “have you any influence with the Admiralty? 
I want the loan of a seaplane.” 

Mr. Salter looked thoughtful. 

“That can be fixed,” he said, “I will get on to the 
’phone straight away to the Admiralty and try to get 
the First Sea Lord. He will do all that he can to 
help us.” 

Whilst the lawyer telephoned, Jim made a hasty 
meal. The pace had told on him and despair was in 
his heart. 

The knowledge that Digby Groat would eventually 
be brought to justice did not comfort him. If Eunice 
had only been spared he would have been content to 
see Digby make his escape and would not have raised 
his hand to stop him going. He would have been 
happy even if in getting away the man had been suc¬ 
cessful in carrying off the girl’s fortune. But Eunice 
was in his wicked hands and the thought of it was un¬ 
endurable. 

He was invited by the local police-sergeant to step 


290 


BLUE HAND 


across to the little lock-up to interview the man Mas¬ 
ters who was under arrest, and as Mr. Salter had not 
finished telephoning he crossed the village street and 
found the dour man in a condition of abject misery. 

“I knew he’d bring me into this,” he wailed, ‘‘and 
me with a wife and three children and not so much as a 
poaching case against me! Can’t you speak a word 
for me, sir?” 

Jim’s sense of humor was never wholly smothered 
and the cool request amused him. 

“I can only say that you tried to strangle me,” he 
said. “I doubt whether that good word will be of 
much service to you.” 

“I swear I didn’t mean to,” pleaded the man. “He 
told me to put the rope round your shoulders and it 
slipped. How was I to know that the lady wasn’t 
his wife who’d run away with you?” 

“So that is the story he told you?” said Jim. 

“Yes, sir,” the man said eagerly. “I pointed out 
to Mr. Groat that the lady hadn’t a wedding-ring, but 
he said that he was married all right and he was taking 
her to sea-” 

“To sea?” 

Masters nodded. 

“That’s what he said, sir—he said she wasn’t right 
in her head and the sea voyage would do her a lot of 
good.” 

Jim questioned him closely without getting any 
further information. Masters knew nothing of the 
steamer on which Digby and his “wife” were to sail, 
or the port at which he would embark. 

Outside the police-station Jim interviewed the ser¬ 
geant. 


BLUE HAND 


291 


“I don’t think this man was any more than a dupe 
of Groat’s,” he said, ‘‘and I certainly have no charge 
to make against him.” 

The sergeant shook his head. 

“We must hold him until we have had the inquest 
on the Spaniard,” he said, and then, gloomily, “To 
think that I had a big case like this right under my 
nose and hadn’t the sense to see it I” 

Jim smiled a little sadly. 

“We have all had the case under our noses, sergeant, 
and we have been blinder than you!” 

s|« s|e He Hi He 

The threat of a renewed dose of the drug had been 
sufficient to make Eunice acquiescent. Resistance, she 
knew, was useless. Digby could easily overpower her 
for long enough to jab his devilish needle into her arm. 

She had struggled at first and had screamed at the 
first prick from the needle point. It was that scream 
Jim had heard. 

“I’ll go with you; I promise you I will not give you 
any trouble,” she said. “Please don’t use that dread¬ 
ful thing again.” 

Time was pressing and it would be easier to make his 
escape if the girl did not resist than if she gave him 
trouble. 

The propeller was ticking slowly round when they 
climbed into the fuselage. 

“There is room for me, senor. There must be room 
forme!” 

Digby looked down into the distorted face of the 
Spaniard who had come running after him. 


292 


BLUE HAND 


“There is no room for you, Fuentes,” he said. “I 
have told you before. You must get away as well as 
you can.” 

“I am going with you!” 

To Digby’s horror, the man clung desperately to the 
side of the fuselage. Every moment was increasing 
their peril, and in a frenzy he whipped out his pistol. 

“Let go,” he hissed, “or I’ll kill you,” but still the 
man held on. 

There were voices coming from the lower path and, 
in his panic, Digby fired. He saw the man crumple 
and fall and yelled to Bronson: 

“Go, go!” 

Eunice, a horrified spectator, could only stare at 
the thing which had been Digby Groat, for the change 
which had come over him was extraordinary. He 
seemed to have shrunk in stature. His face was 
twisted, like a man who had had a stroke of paralysis. 

She thought this was the case, but slowly he began to 
recover. 

He had killed a man! The horror of this act was 
upon him, the fear of the consequence which would 
follow, overwhelmed him and drove him into a momen¬ 
tary frenzy. He had killed a man! He could have 
shrieked at the thought. He, who had so carefully 
guarded himself against punishment, who had ma¬ 
neuvered his associates into danger, whilst he himself 
stood in a safe place, was now a fugitive from a jus¬ 
tice which would not rest until it had laid him by the 
heel. 

And she had seen him, she, the woman at his side, 
and would go into the box and testify against him! 
And they would hang him! In that brick-lined pit 


BLUE HAND 


293 


of which Jim Steele had spoken. All these thoughts 
flashed through his mind in a second, even before the 
machine left the ground, but with the rush of cold air 
and the inevitable exhilaration of flight, he began to 
think calmly again. 


CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE 


B ronson had killed him, that was the comfort¬ 
ing defense. Bronson, who was now guiding 
him to safety, and who would, if necessary, give 
his life for him. Bronson should bear the onus of that 
act. 

They were well up now, and the engines were a 
smooth “b’r’r!’’ of sound. A night wind was blowing 
and the plane rocked from side to side. It made the 
girl feel a little sick, but she commanded her brain to 
grow accustomed to the motion, and after a while, the 
feeling of nausea wore off. 

They could see the sea now. The flashing signals 
of the lighthouses came from left and right. Bristol, 
a tangle of fiery spots, lay to their left, and there were 
tiny gleams of light on the river and estuary. 

They skirted the northern slope of the Bristol Chan¬ 
nel and headed west, following the coastline. Pres¬ 
ently the machine turned due south, leaving behind 
them the land and its girdle of lights. Twenty min¬ 
utes later Bronson fired his signal pistol. A ball of 
brilliant green fire curved up and down and almost 
immediately, from the sea, came an answering signal. 
Digby strapped the girl’s life-belt tighter, and saw to 
the fastening of his own. 

“Fix my belt.” It was Bronson shouting through 
the telephone, and Digby, leaning forward, fastened the 
life-belt about the pilot’s waist. He fastened it care- 

294 


BLUE HAND 295 

fully and added a stout strap, tying the loose end of 
the leather in a knot. 

Down went the machine in a long glide toward the 
light which still burnt, and now the girl could see the 
outlines of the graceful yacht and the green and red 
lights it showed. 

They made a circle, coming lower and lower every 
second, until they were spinning about the yacht not 
more than a dozen feet from the sea. Bronson shut 
off his engines and brought the machine upon the water, 
less than fifty feet from the waiting boat. 

Instantly the aeroplane sank under them, leaving 
them in the sea. It was a strange sensation, thought 
the girl, for the water was unusually warm. 

She heard a shriek and turned, and then Digby 
caught her hand. 

‘^Keep close to me,’’ he said in a whimpering voice; 
“you might be lost in the darkness.” 

She knew that he was thinking of himself. A light 
flared from the oncoming boat, and she looked round. 
In spite of herself, she asked: 

“Where is the man?” 

Bronson was nowhere in sight. Digby did not 
trouble to turn his head or answer. He reached up 
and gripped the gunwale of the boat and in a minute 
Eunice was lifted out of the water. She found her¬ 
self in a small cutter which was manned by brown¬ 
faced men, whom she thought at first were Japanese. 

“Where is Bronson?” she asked again in a panic, 
but Digby did not reply. He sat immovable, avoiding 
her eyes, and she could have shrieked her horror. 
Bronson had gone down with the aeroplane I The 
strap which Digby had fastened about his waist, he had 


296 


BLUE HAND 


cunningly attached to the seat itself, and had fastened 
it so that it was impossible for the pilot to escape. 

He was the first up the gangway on to the white 
deck of the yacht, and turning, he offered his hand to 
her. 

‘Welcome to the Pealigo,*^ he said in his mocking 
voice. 

Then it was not fear that had kept him silent. She 
could only look at him. 

“Welcome to the Pedigo, my little bride,” he said, 
and she knew that the man who had not hesitated to 
murder his two comrades in cold blood, would have no 
mercy on her. 

A white-coated stewardess came forward, and said 
something in a language which Eunice did not under¬ 
stand. She gathered that the woman was deputed 
to show her the way to the cabin. Glad to be free 
from the association of Digby, she passed down the 
companion-way, through a lobby paneled in rosewood, 
into a cabin, the luxury of which struck her, even 
though her nerves were shattered, and she was incap¬ 
able of taking an interest in anything outside the ter¬ 
rible fact that she was alone on a yacht with Digby 
Groat. 

Extravagance had run riot here, and the Brazilian 
must have lavished a fortune in the decoration and ap¬ 
pointments. 

The saloon ran the width of the ship and was as 
deep as it was broad. Light was admitted from port¬ 
holes cunningly designed, so that they had the appear¬ 
ance of old-fashioned casement windows. A great 
divan, covered in silk, ran the length of the cabin on 
one side, whilst the other was occupied by a silver 


BLUE HAND 


297 


bedstead, hung with rose silk curtains. Rose-shaded 
lights supplied the illumination, and the lamps were 
fashioned like torches and were held by beautiful classi¬ 
cal figures, placed in niches about the room. 

She came to the conclusion that it was a woman’s 
room and wondered if there were any other women on 
board but the stewardess. She asked that woman, 
but apparently she knew no English, and the few words 
in Spanish which she had learnt did not serve her to 
any extent. 

The suite was complete, she discovered, for behind 
the heavy silken curtains at the far end of the cabin 
there was a door which gave to a small sitting-room 
and a bath-room. It must be a woman’s. In truth, 
it was designed especially by Senor Maxilla for his own 
comfort. 

Lying on the bed was a complete change of clothing. 
It was brand new and complete to the last detail. 
Digby Groat could be very thorough. 

She dismissed the woman, and bolting the door, made 
a complete change, for the third time since she had left 
Grosvenor Square. 

The boat was under way now. She could feel the 
throb of its engines, and the slight motion that it made 
in the choppy sea. The Pedigo was one of the best 
sea boats afloat, and certainly one of the fastest yachts 
in commission. 

She had finished her changing when a knock came 
at the door and she opened it to find Digby standing 
on the mat. 

“You had better come and have some dinner,” he 
said. 

He was quite his old self and whatever emotions had 


298 


BLUE HAND 


disturbed him were now completely under control. 

She shrank back and tried to close the door, but 
now he was not standing on ceremony. Grasping her 
arm roughly he dragged her out into the passage. 

‘‘You’re going to behave yourself while you’re on 
this ship,” he said. “I’m master here, and there is 
no especial reason why I should show you any polite¬ 
ness.” 

“You brute, you beast!” she flamed at him and he 
smiled. 

“Don’t think that because you’re a woman it is go¬ 
ing to save you anything in the way of punishment,” he 
warned her. “Now be sensible and come along to the 
dining saloon.” 

“I don’t want to eat,” she said. 

“You will come into the dining saloon whether you 
want to or not.” 

The saloon was empty save for the two and a dark- 
skinned waiter, and, like her own cabin, it was gor¬ 
geously decorated, a veritable palace in miniature, with 
its dangling electrolier, its flowers, and its marble man¬ 
telpiece at the far end. 

The table was laid with a delicious meal, but Eunice 
felt she would choke if she took a morsel. 

“Eat,” said Digby, attacking the soup which had 
been placed before him. 

She shook her head. 

“If you don’t,” and his eyes narrowed, “if you don’t, 
my good soul, I will find a way of making you eat,” he 
said. “Remember,” he put his hand in his pocket, 
pulled out the hateful little black case (it was wet, she 
noticed) and laid it on the table, “at any rate, you will 
be obedient enough when I use this!” 


BLUE HAND 


299 


She picked up her spoon meekly and began to eat 
the soup, and he watched her with an amused smile. 

She was surprised to find how hungry she was, and 
made no attempt to deny the chicken en casserole, 
nor the sweet that followed, but resolutely she refused 
to touch the wine that the steward poured out for her, 
and Digby did not press her. 

‘‘You^re a fool, you know, Eunice.^^ Digby lit a 
cigar without asking permission, and leaning back in 
his chair, looked at her critically. “There is a won¬ 
derful life ahead for you if you are only intelligent. 
Why worry about a man like Steele? A poor beggar, 
without a penny in the world-” 

“You forget that I have no need of money, Mr. 
Groat,” she said with spirit. Any reference to Jim 
aroused all that was savage in her. “I have not only 
the money which you have not stolen from my estate, 
but when you are arrested and in prison, I shall recover 
all that you have now, including this yacht, if it is 
yours.” 

Her answer made him chuckle. 

“I like spirit,” he said. “You can't annoy me, 
Eunice, my darling. So you like our yacht—our 
honeymoon yacht?” he added. 

To this she made no reply. 

“But suppose you realized how much I love you,” 
he leant over and caught her hand in both of his and 
his eyes devoured her. “Suppose you realize that, 
Eunice, and knew I would give my life—my very 
soul—to make you happy, wouldn't that make a dif¬ 
ference?” 

“Nothing would made a difference to my feelings, 
Mr. Groat,” she said. “The only chance you have of 



300 


BLUE HAND 


earning my gratitude is to put in at the nearest port 
and set me ashore.” 

“And where do I set myself?” he asked coolly. “Be 
as intelligent as you are beautiful, Eunice. No, no, 
I shall be very glad to make you happy so long as I 
get a little of the happiness myself, but I do not risk 

imprisonment and death-” he shivered, and hated 

himself that he had been surprised into this symptom 
of fear, and hated her worse for having noticed it. 

“Where are we going?” she asked. 

“We are bound for South America,” said Digby, 
“and it may interest you to learn that we are following 
a track which is not usually taken by the South Ameri¬ 
can traffic. We shall skirt Ireland and take what the 
mariners call the western ocean route, until we are 
within a thousand miles of Long Island, when we shall 
turn due south. By this way We avoid being sighted 
by the American ships and we also avoid—” the man 
who came in at that moment, Eunice thought must be 
the captain. 

He wore three rings of gold about his wrist, but he 
was not her ideal of a seaman. Under-sized, lame in 
one foot, his parchment face and stiff black hair almost 
convinced her that this was a Japanese boat after all. 

“You must meet the captain,” said Digby, intro¬ 
ducing him, “and you had better make friends with 
him.” 

Eunice thought that the chances of her making 
friends with that uncompromising little man were re¬ 
mote. 

“What is it, captain?” asked Digby in Portuguese. 

“We have just picked up a wireless; I thought you^d 
like to see it.” 



BLUE HAND 301 

“I had forgotten we had wireless,” said Digby as he 
took the message from the man^s hand. 

It was ill-spelt, having been written by a Brazilian 
who had no knowledge of English and had set down the 
message letter by letter as he received it. Skipping the 
errors of transmission, Digby read: 

“To all ships westward, southward, and homeward bound. 
Keep a sharp lookout for the yacht Pealigo and report by 
wireless, position and bearing, to Inspector Rite, Scotland 
Yard.” 

Eunice did not understand what they were talking 
about, but she saw a frown settle on Digby’s forehead, 
and guessed that the news was bad. If it was bad for 
him, then it was very good for her, she thought, and 
her spirits began to rise. 

‘‘You had better go to bed, Eunice,” said Digby. “I 
want to talk to the captain.” 

She rose, and only the captain rose with her. 

“Sit down,” said Digby testily. “You are not here 
to do the honors to Mrs. Digby Groat.” 

She did not hear the last words, for she was out of 
the saloon as quickly as she could go. She went back 
to her own cabin, shut the door, and put up her hand 
to shoot home the bolt, but while she had been at 
dinner somebody had been busy. The bolt was re¬ 
moved and the key of the door was gone! 


CHAPTER FORTY-SIX 


E unice started at the door. There was no 
mistake. The bolts had recently been re¬ 
moved and the raw wood showed where the 
screws had been taken out. 

The Pealigo was rolling now, and she had a difficulty 
in keeping her balance, but she made her way round 
the cabin, gathering chairs, tables, everything that was 
movable, and piling them up against the door. She 
searched the drawers of the bureau for some weapon 
which might have been left by its former occupant, but 
there was nothing more formidable than a golden- 
backed hair brush which the plutocratic Maxilla had 
overlooked. 

The bathroom yielded nothing more than a long- 
handled brush, whilst her sitting-room made no return 
for her search. 

She sat watching the door as the hours passed, but 
no attempt was made to enter the cabin. A bell rang 
at intervals on the deck: she counted eight. It was 
midnight. How long would it be before Digby Groat 
came? 

At that moment a pale-faced Digby Groat, his teeth 
chattering, sat in the cabin of the wireless operator, 
reading a message which had been picked up. Part 
was in code, and evidently addressed to the Admiralty 
ships cruising in the vicinity, but the longer message 
was in plain English and was addressed: 

302 


BLUE HAND 


303 


“To the chief officers of all ships. To the Commanders 
of H.M. ships: to all Justices of the Peace, officers of the 
police Great Britain and Ireland. To all Inspectors, sub¬ 
inspectors of the Royal Irish Constabulary: 

“Arrest and detain Digby Groat, height five foot nine, 
stoutly built, complexion sallow, had small mustache but 
believed to have shaven. Speaks Spanish, French, Portu¬ 
guese, and is a qualified surgeon and physician, believed to 
be traveling on the S.Y. Pealigo No. XVM. This man is 
wanted on a charge of willful murder and conspiracy; a re¬ 
ward of five thousand pounds will be paid by Messrs. Salter 
and Salter, Solicitors, of London, for his arrest and detention. 
Believe he has traveling with him, under compulsion, 
Dorothy Danton, age 22. Groat is a dangerous man and 
carries firearms.’’ 

The little captain of the Pealigo took the thin cigar 
from his teeth and regarded the gray ash attentively, 
though he was also looking at the white-faced man by 
the operator’s side. 

“So you see, senhor,” he said suavely, “I am in a 
most difficult position.” 

“I thought you did not speak English,” said Digby, 
finding his voice at last. 

The little captain smiled. 

“I read enough English to understand a reward of 
five thousand pounds, senhor,” he said significantly. 
“And if I did not, my wireless operator speaks many 
languages, English included, and he would have ex¬ 
plained to me, even if I had not been able to under¬ 
stand the message myself.” 

Digby looked at him bleakly. 

“What are you going to do?” he asked. 

“That depends upon what you are going to do,” said 


304 


BLUE HAND 


the Brazilian. “I am no traitor to my salt, and I 
should like to serve you, but you readily understand 
that this would mean a terrible thing for me, if, know¬ 
ing that you were wanted by the English police, I 
assisted you to make an escape? I am not a stickler 
for small things,’^ he shrugged his shoulders, “and 
Senhor Maxilla did much that I closed my eyes to. 
Women came into his calculations, but murder never.’’ 

“I am not a murderer, I tell you,” stormed Digby 
vehemently, “and you are under my orders. Do you 
understand that?” 

He jumped up and stood menacingly above the un¬ 
perturbed Brazilian, and in his hand had appeared an 
ugly looking weapon. 

“You will carry out my instructions to the letter, 
or, by God, you’ll know all about it I” 

But the captain of the Pealigo had returned to the 
contemplation of his cigar. He reminded Digby some¬ 
what of Bronson, and the yellow-faced man shivered 
as at an unpleasant thought. 

“It is not the first time I have been threatened with 
a revolver,” said the captain coolly. “Years ago when 
I was very young, such things might have frightened 
me, but to-day I am not young. I have a family in 
Brazil who are very expensive; my pay is small, other¬ 
wise I would not follow the sea and be every man’s 
dog to kick and bully as he wishes. If I had a hun¬ 
dred thousand pounds, senhor, I should settle down on 
a plantation which I have bought and be a happy and 
a silent man for the rest of my life.” 

He emphasized “silent,” and Digby understood. 

“Couldn’t you do that for a little less than a hundred 
thousand?” he asked. 


BLUE HAND 


305 


“I have been thinking the matter out very carefully. 
We shipmen have plenty of time to think, and that is 
the conclusion that I have reached, that a hundred 
thousand pounds would make all the difference be¬ 
tween a life of work and a life of ease.’^ He was silent 
for a moment and then went on. “That is why I 
hesitated about the reward. If the radio had said a 
hundred thousand pounds, senhor, I should have been 
tempted.” 

Digby turned on him with a snarl. 

“Talk straight, will you?” he said. “You want me 
to pay you a hundred thousand pounds, and that is 
the price for carrying me to safety; otherwise you will 
return to port and give me up.” 

The captain shrugged his shoulders. 

“I said nothing of the sort, senhor,” he said. “I 
merely mentioned a little private matter in which I 
am glad to see you take an interest. Then senhor also 
wishes for a happy life in Brazil with the beautiful 
lady he brought on board, and the senhor is not a poor 
man, and if it is true that the beautiful lady is an heir¬ 
ess, he could be richer.” 

The operator looked in. He was anxious to come 
back to his own cabin, but the captain, with a jerk of 
his head, sent him out again. 

He dropped his voice to a tone. 

“Would it not be possible for me to go to the young 
lady and say: ‘Miss, you are in great danger, and I too 
am in danger of losing my liberty, what would you pay 
me to put a sentry outside your door; to place senhor 
Digby Groat in irons, in the strong room?^ Do you 
think she would say a hundred thousand pounds, or 
even a half of her fortune, senhor?” 


306 


BLUE HAND 


Digby was silent. 

The threat was real and definite. It was not camou¬ 
flaged by any fine phrases; as plainly as the little 
Brazilian could state his demands, he had done so. 

‘^Very good.^’ Digby got up from the edge of the 
table where he had sat, with downcast eyes, turning 
this and that and the other plan over in his mind. 
^T’ll pay you.’’ 

‘Wait, wait,” said the captain. “Because there is 
another alternative that I wish to put to you, senhor,” 
he said. “Suppose that I am her friend, or pretend to 
be, and offer her protection until we reach a port where 
she can be landed? Should we not both receive a share 
of the great reward?” 

“I will not give her up,” said Digby between his 
teeth. “You can cut that idea out of your head, and 
also the notion about putting me in irons. By God, if 

I thought you meant it-” he glowered at the little 

man, and the captain smiled. 

“Who means anything in this horrible climate?” he 
said lazily. “You will bring the money to-morrow to 
my cabin, perhaps—^no, no, to-night,” he said thought¬ 
fully. 

“You can have it to-morrow.” 

The captain shrugged his shoulders; he did not in¬ 
sist, and Digby was left alone with his thoughts. 

There was still a hope; there were two. They could 
not prove that he shot Fuentes, and it would be a diffi¬ 
cult matter to pick up the yacht if it followed the course 
that the captain had marked for it, and in the mean¬ 
time there was Eunice. His lips twisted, and the color 
came into his face. Eunice! He went along the deck 
and down the companionway, but there was a man 


BLUE HAND 


307 


standing in the front of the door of the girPs cabin, a 
broad-shouldered, brown-faced man, who touched his 
cap as the owner appeared, but did not budge. 

“Stand out of the way,’^ said Digby impatiently. “I 
want to go into that room.” 

“It is not permitted,” said the sailor. 

Digby stepped back a pace, crimson with anger. 

“Who gave orders that I should not pass?” 

“The capitano,” said the man. 

Digby flew up the companion ladder and went in 
search of the captain. He found him on the bridge. 

“What is this?” he began, and the captain snapped 
something at him in Portuguese, and Digby, looking 
ahead, saw a white fan-shaped light stealing along the 
sea. 

“It is a warship, and she may be engaged in ma¬ 
neuvers,” said the captain, “but she may also be look¬ 
ing for us.” 

He gave an order, and suddenly all the lights on the 
ship were extinguished. The Pealigo swung round in 
a semicircle and headed back the way she had come. 

“We can make a detour and get past her,” explained 
the captain, and Digby forgot the sentry at the door 
in the distress of this new danger. 

Left and right wheeled the searchlight, but never 
once did it touch the Pealigo, It was searching 
for her, though they must have seen her lights, and 
now the big white ray was groping at the spot 
where the yacht had turned. It missed them by 
yards. 

“Where are we going?” asked Digby fretfully. 

“We are going back for ten miles, and then we’ll 
strike between the ship and Ireland, which is there.” 


308 


BLUE HAND 


He pointed to the horizon, where a splash of light 
trembled for a second and was gone. 

“We are losing valuable time,” said Digby fretfully. 

“It is better to lose time than to lose your liberty,” 
said the philosophical captain. 

Digby clutched the rail and his heart turned to 
water, as the searchlight of the warship again swung 
round. But fortune was with them. It might, as the 
captain said, be only a ship carrying out searchlight 
practice, but on the other hand, in view of the wire¬ 
less messages which had been received, it seemed cer¬ 
tain that the cruiser had a special reason for its scru¬ 
tiny. 

It was not until they were out of the danger zone 
that Digby remembered the mission that had brought 
him to the bridge. 

“What do you mean by putting a man on guard out¬ 
side that girl’s door?” he asked. 

The captain had gone to the deckhouse, and was 
bending over the table examining an Admiralty chart. 
He did not answer until Digby had repeated the ques¬ 
tion, then he looked up and straightened his back. 

“The future of the lady is dependent, entirely, on 
the fulfillment of your promise, illustrious,” he said in 
the flamboyant terminology of his motherland. 

“But I promised-” 

“You have not performed.” 

“Do you doubt my words?” stormed Digby. 

“I do not doubt, but I do not understand,” said the 
captain. “If you will come to my cabin I will settle 
with you.” 

Digby thought a while; his interest in Eunice had 
evaporated with the coming of this new danger, and 


BLUE HAND 


309 


there was no reason why he should settle that night. 
Suppose he was captured, the money would be wasted. 
It would be useless to him also, but this in his parsi¬ 
monious way, did not influence him. 

He went down to his cabin, a smaller and less beau¬ 
tifully furnished one than that occupied by Eunice, and 
pulling an armchair to the neat little desk, he sat down 
to think matters over. And as the hours passed, his 
perspective shifted. Somehow, the danger seemed very 
remote, and Eunice was very near, and if any real 
danger came, why there would be an end of all things, 
Eunice included, and his money would be of no more 
value to him than the spray which flapped against the 
closed port-hole. 

Beneath the bureau was a small, strong safe, and 
this he unlocked, taking out the broad money belt 
which he had fastened about his waist before he began 
the journey. He emptied one bulging pocket, and laid 
a wad of bills upon the desk. They were gold bonds 
of ten thousand dollar denomination, and he counted 
forty, put the remainder back in the pocket from 
whence he had taken it, and locked the belt in the safe. 

It was half-past five and the gray of the new day 
showed through the portholes. He thrust the money 
in his pocket and went out to talk to the captain. 

He shivered in the chill wind of morning as he 
stepped out on the deck and made his way forward. 
The little Brazilian, a grotesque figure, wrapped in his 
overcoat and muffled to the chin, was standing moodily 
staring across the gray waste. Without a word Digby 
stepped up to him and thrust the bundle of notes into 
his hand. The Brazilian looked at the money, counted 
it mechanically, and put it into his pocket. 


310 


BLUE HAND 


‘‘Your excellency is munificent,” he said. 

“Now take your sentry from the door,” said Digby 
sharply. 

“Wait here,” said the captain and went below. 

He returned in a few minutes. 


CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN 


S HE had heard the tap of her first visitor at one 
o^clock in the morning. It had come when 
Digby Groat was sitting in his cabin turning 
over the possibilities of misfortune which the future 
held, and she had thought it was he. 

The handle of the door turned and it opened an inch; 
beyond that it could not go without a crash, for the 
chairs and tables that Eunice had piled against it. She 
watched with a stony face and despair in her heart, as 
the opening of the door increased. 

“Please do not be afraid,” said a voice. 

Then it was not Digby! She sprang to her feet. 
It might be someone worse, but that was impossi¬ 
ble. 

“Who is it?” she asked. 

“It is I, the capftain,” said a voice in labored Eng¬ 
lish. 

“What is it you want?” 

“I wish to speak to you, mademoiselle, but you must 
put away these things from behind the door, otherwise 
I will call two of my sailors, and it will be a simple 
matter to push them aside.” 

Already he had pried open the door to the extent 
of two or three inches, and with a groan Eunice re¬ 
alized the futility of her barricade. She dragged the 
furniture aside and the little captain came in smiling, 
hat in hand, closing the door after him. 


312 


BLUE HAND 


“Permit me, mademoiselle,” he said politely, and 
moved her aside while he replaced the furniture, then 
he opened the door and looked out, and Eunice saw 
that there was a tall sailor standing with his back to 
her, evidently on guard. What did this mean, she 
wondered? The captain did not leave her long in ig¬ 
norance. 

“Lady,” he said in an accent which it was almost 
impossible to reproduce, “I am a poor sailor man 
who works at his hazardous calling for two hundred 
miserable milreis a month. But because I am poor, 
arid of humble-” he hesitated and used the Portu¬ 

guese word for origin—which she guessed at—“it does 
not mean that I am without a heart.” He struck 
his breast violently. “I have a repugnancio to hurting 
female women!” 

She was wondering what was coming next: would 
he offer to sell his master at a price? If he did, she 
would gladly agree, but the new hope which surged up 
within her was dissipated by his next words. 

“My friend Groat,” he said, “is my master. I must 
obey his orders, and if he says, ^Go to Callao,^ or to 
Rio de Janeiro, I must go.” 

Her hopes sunk, but evidently he had something 
more to say. 

“As the captain I must do as I am told,” he said, 
“but I cannot and will not see a female hurted. You 
understand?” 

She nodded, and the spark of hope kindled afresh. 

“I myself cannot be here all the time, nor can my 
inconquerable sailors, to see that you are not hurted, 
and it would look bad for me if you were hurted —vtxy 
bad!” 



BLUE HAND 


313 


Evidently the worthy captain was taking a very far¬ 
sighted view of the situation, and had hit upon a com¬ 
promise which relieved him at least of his responsibility 
toward his master. 

^‘If the young lady will take this, remembering that 
Jose Montigano was the good friend of hers, I shall be 
repaid.” 

“This,^-^ was a silvery weapon. She took the weapon 
in her hand with a glad cry. 

“Oh thank you, thank you, captain,” she said, seiz¬ 
ing his hand. 

“Remember,” he raised a warning finger. “I cannot 
do more. I speak now as man to woman. Presently 
I speak as captain to owner. You understand the re¬ 
markable difference?” 

He confused her a little but she could guess what he 
meant. 

He bowed and made his exit, but presently he re¬ 
turned. 

“To put the chairs and tables against the door is no 

use,” he said, shaking his head. “It is better-” he 

pointed significantly to the revolver, and with a broad 
grin closed the door behind him. 

Digby Groat knew nothing of this visit: it satisfied 
him that the sentry had been withdrawn, and that now 
nothing stood between him and the woman whom, in 
his distorted, evil way, he loved, but her own frail 
strength. He tapped again. It pleased him to ob¬ 
serve these threadbare conventions for the time being, 
yet when no answer came to his knock, he opened the 
door slowly and walked in. 

Eunice was standing at the far end of the cabin; 
the silken curtains had been drawn aside, and the door 


314 


BLUE HAND 


leading to her sitting saloon was open. Her hands 
were behind her and she was fully dressed. 

‘‘My dear,” said Digby, in his most expansive man¬ 
ner, “why are you tiring your pretty eyes? You 
should have been in bed and asleep.” 

“What do you want?” she demanded. 

“What else could a man want, who had such a 
beautiful wife, but the pleasure of her conversation 
and companionship,” he said with an air of gayety. 

“Stand where you are,” she called sharply as he 
advanced, and the authority in her tone made him halt. 

“Now, Eunice,” he said shaking his head, “you are 
making a lot of trouble when trouble is foolish. You 
have only to be sensible, and there is nothing in the 
world that I will not give you.” 

“There is nothing in the world that you have to give, 
except the money which you have stolen from me,” she 
said calmly. “Why do you talk of giving, when I am 
the giver, and there is nothing for you to take but my 
mercy?” 

He stared at her, stricken dumb by the coolness at 
the moment of her most deadly danger, and then with a 
laugh he recovered his self-possession and strolled 
towards her, his dark eyes aflame. 

“Stand where you are,” said Eunice again, and this 
time she had the means to enforce her command. 

Digby could only stare at the muzzle of the pistol 
pointed toward his heart, and then he shrank bacL 

“Put that thing away!” he said harshly. “Damn 
you, put it away! You are not used to firearms and 
it may explode.” 

“It will explode,” said Eunice. Her voice was deep 
and intense, and all the resentment she had smothered 


BLUE HAND 


315 


poured forth in her words. ‘‘I tell you, Digby Groat, 
that I will shoot you like a dog, and glory in the act. 
Shoot you more mercilessly than you killed that poor 
Spaniard, and look upon your body with less horror 
than you showed.’’ 

“Put it away, put it away! Where did you get it?” 
he cried. “For God’s sake, Eunice, don’t fool with 
that pistol, you don’t want to kill me, do you?” 

“There are times when I want to kill you very 
badly,” she said, and lowered the point of the revolver 
at the sight of the man’s abject cowardice. 

He wiped his forehead with a silk handkerchief, and 
she could see his knees trembling. 

“Who gave you that pistol?” he demanded violently. 
“You didn’t have it when you left Kennett Hall, that 
I’ll swear. Where did you find it? In one of those 
drawers?” He looked at the btireau, one of the 
drawers of which was half open. 

“Does it matter?” she asked. “Now, Mr. Groat, 
you will please go out of my cabin and leave me in 
peace.” 

“I had no intention of hurting you,” he growled. 
He was still very pale. “There was no need for you 
to flourish your revolver so melodramatically. I only 
came in to say good-night.” 

“You might have come about six hours earlier,” she 
said. “Now go.” 

“Listen to me, Eunice,” said Digby Groat; he edged 
forward but her pistol covered him, and he jumped. 
“If you’re going to play the fool. I’ll go,” he said, and 
followed the action by the deed, slamming the door 
behind him. 

She heard the outer door open and close, and leant 


316 


BLUE HAND 


against the brass column of the bed for support, for 
she was near to the end of her courage. She must 
sleep, she thought, but first she must secure the outer 
door. There was a lock on the lobby door; she had 
not noticed that before. She had hardly taken two 
steps through the cabin door before an arm was flung 
around her, she was pressed back, and a hand gripped 
the wrist which still carried the weapon. With a 
wrench he flung it to the floor, and in another moment 
she was in his arms. 

“You thought I^d gone,” he lifted her still struggling 
and carried her back to the saloon. “I want to see 
you,” he breathed. “To see your face, your glorious 
eyes, that wonderful mouth of yours, Eunice.” He 
pressed his lips against hers; he smothered with kisses 
her cheeks, her neck, her eyes. 

She felt herself slipping from consciousness; the very 
horror of his caresses froze and paralyzed her will to 
struggle. She could only gaze at the eyes so close to 
hers, fascinated as by the glare of the deadly snake. 

“You are mine now, mine, do you hear?” he mur¬ 
mured into her ear. “You will forget Jim Steele, for¬ 
get everything, except that I adore you,” and then he 
saw her wild gaze pass him to the door, and turned. 

The little captain stood there, his hands on his hips, 
watching, his brown face a mask. 

Digby released his hold of the girl, and turned on the 
sailor. 

“What the hell are you doing here? Get out,” he. 
almost screamed. 

“There is an aeroplane looking for us,” said the cap¬ 
tain. “We have just picked up her wireless.” 


BLUE HAND 317 

Digby^s jaw dropped. That possibility had not oc¬ 
curred to him. 

‘‘Who is she? What does the wireless say?” 

“It is a message we picked up saying, ‘Nothing 
sighted. Am heading due south.’ It gave her posi¬ 
tion,” added the captain, “and if she is coming due 
south I think Mr. Steele will find us.” 

Digby fell back a pace, his face blanched. 

“Steele,” he gasped. 

The captain nodded. 

“That is the gentleman who signs the message. I 
think it would be advisable for you to come on deck.” 

“I’ll come on deck when I want,” growled Digby. 
There was a devil in him now. He was at the end of 
his course, and he was not to be thwarted. 

“Will the good gentleman come on deck?” 

“I will come later. I have some business to attend 
to here.” 

“You can attend to it on deck,” said the little captain 
calmly. 

“Get out,” shouted Digby. 

The captain’s hand did not seem to move; there was 
a shot, the deafening explosion of which filled the cabin, 
and a panel behind Digby’s head splintered into a 
thousand pieces. 

He glared at the revolver in the Brazilian’s hand, 
unable to realize what had happened. 

“I could have shot you just as easily,” said the 
Brazilian calmly, “but I preferred to send the little 
bullet near your ear. Will you come on deck, please?” 

Digby Groat obeyed. 


CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT 


HITE and breathless he leant against the bul¬ 



wark glowering at the Brazilian, who had 


come between him and the woman whose 


ruin he had planned. 

^‘Now,” he said, ^^ou will tell me what you mean 
by this, you swine 1” 

“I will tell you many things that you will not like to 
hear,” said the captain. 

A light dawned upon Digby. 

“Did you give the girl that revolver?” 

The Brazilian nodded. 

“I desired to save you from yourself, my friend,” he 
said. “In an hour the gentleman Steele will be within 
sight of us; I can tell where he is within a few miles. 
Do you wish that he should come on board and dis¬ 
cover that you have added something to murder that is 
worse than murder?” 

“That is my business,” said Digby Groat, breathing 
so quickly that he felt he would suffocate unless the 
pent up rage in him found some vent. 

“And mine,” said the captain, tapping him on the 
chest. “I tell you, my fine fellow, that that is my 
business also, for I do not intend to live within an 
English gaol. It is too cold in England and I would 
not survive one winter. No, my fine fellow, there is 
only one thing to do. It is to run due west in the hope 
that we escape the observation of the airship man; if 
we do not, then we are-” he snapped his fingers. 


BLUE HAND 


319 


“Do as you like,” said Digby, and turning abruptly 
walked down to his cabin. 

He was beaten, and the end was near. He took 
from a drawer a small bottle of colorless liquid, and 
emptied its contents into a glass. This he placed in a 
rack conveniently to his hand. The effect would not 
be violent. One gulp, and he would pass to sleep and 
there the matter would end for him. That was a com¬ 
forting thought to Digby Groat. If they escaped 1— 
His mind turned to Eunice. She could wait; perhaps 
they would dodge through all these guards that the 
police had put, and they would reach that land for 
which he yearned. He could not expect the captain, 
after receiving the wireless messages of warning, to 
take the risks. He was playing for safety, thought 
Digby, and did not wholly disapprove of the man’s 
attitude. 

When they were on the high seas away from the 
ocean traffic, the little Brazilian would change his atti¬ 
tude, and then—Digby nodded. The captain was 
wise; it would have been madness on his part to force 
the issue so soon. 

Eunice could not get away; they were moving in the 
same direction to a common destination, and there were 
weeks, hot and sunny weeks, when they could sit un¬ 
der the awning on this beautiful yacht and talk. He 
would be rational and drop that cave-man method of 
wooing. A week’s proximity and freedom from re¬ 
straint might make all the difference in the world, if— 
There was a big if, he recognized. Steele would not 
rest until he had found him, but by that time Eunice 
might be a complacent partner. 

He felt a little more cheerful, locked away the glass 


320 


BLUE HAND 


and its contents in a cupboard, and strolled up to the 
deck. He saw the ship now for the first time in day¬ 
light, and it was a model of what a yacht should be. 
The deck was snowy white; every piece of brass work 
glittered, the coiled sheets looked to have been dipped 
in chalk, and under that identical awning great basket 
chairs awaited him invitingly. 

He glanced round the horizon; there was no ship in 
sight. The sea sparkled in the rays of the sun, and 
over the white wake of the steamer lay a deep black 
pall of smoke, for the Pealigo was racing forward at 
twenty-two knots an hour. The captain, at any rate, 
was not playing him false. He was heading west, 
judged Digby. 

Far away on the right was an irregular purple strip, 
the line of the Irish coast; the only traffic they would 
meet now, he considered, was the western bound 
steamers on the New York route. But the only sign 
of a steamer was a blob of smoke on the far off eastern 
horizon. 

The chairs invited him, and he sat down and 
stretched his legs luxuriously. 

Yes, this was a better plan, he thought, and as his 
mind turned again to Eunice, she appeared at the head 
of the companion way. At first she did not see him, 
and walking to the rail, seemed to be breathing in the 
beauties of the morning. 

How exquisite she looked! He did not remember 
seeing a woman who held herself as she did. The vir¬ 
ginal purity of her face, the glory of her coloring, the 
svelte woman figure of her—they were worth waiting 
for, he told himself again. 


BLUE HAND 


321 


She turned her head and saw him and made a move¬ 
ment as though she were going back to her cabin, but 
he beckoned to her, and to his surprise, she walked 
slowly toward him. 

“Don’t get up,” she said coldly. “I can find a chair 
myself. I want to speak to you, Mr. Groat.” 

“You want to speak to me,” he said in amazement, 
and she nodded. 

“I have been thinking that perhaps I can induce you 
to turn this yacht about and land me in England.” 

“Oh you have, have you?” he said sharply. “What 
inducement can you offer other than your gracious 
self?” 

“Money,” she answered. “I do not know by what 
miracle it has happened, but I believe I am an heiress, 

and worth-” she hesitated, “a great deal of money. 

If that is the case, Mr. Groat, you are poor.” 

“I’m not exactly a pauper,” he said apparently 
amused. “What are you offering me?” 

“I’m offering you half my fortune to take me back 
to England,” she said. 

“And what would you do with the other half of your 
fortune?” he mocked her. “Save me from the gal¬ 
lows? No, no, my young friend, I have committed 
myself too deeply to make your plan even feasible. 
I’m not going to bother you again, and I promise you 
I will wait until we have reached our destination before 
I ask you to share my lot. I appreciate your offer 
and I daresay it is an honest one,” he went on, “but I 
have gone too far literally and figuratively to turn back. 
You hate me now, but that feeling will change.” 

“It will never change,” she said as she rose. “But 



322 


BLUE HAND 


I see that I am wasting my time with you,” and with a 
little nod, she would have gone had he not caught her 
hand, and drawn her back. 

^‘You love somebody else, I suppose?” 

‘‘That is an impertinence,” she said. “You have no 
right to question me.” 

“I am not questioning you, I am merely making a 
statement which is beyond dispute. You love some¬ 
body else, and that somebody is Jim Steele.” He leant 
forward. “You can make up your mind for this, that 
sooner than give you to Jim Steele, I will kill you. Is 
that plain?” 

“It is the kindest thing you have said,” she smiled 
contemptuously as she rose. 


CHAPTER FORTY-NINE 


LITTLE smudge of smoke far away to the 



south sent Jim Steele racing away on a fooPs 


JL errand, for the ship proved to be nothing more 
interesting than a fruit boat which had ignored his 
wireless inquiry because the only man who operated 
the instrument was asleep in his bunk. Jim saw the 
character of the ship when he was within two miles of 
it and banked over cutting a diagonal course north 


west. 


Once or twice he glanced back at his “passenger^’ 
but Inspector Maynard was thoroughly at home and 
apparently comfortable. 

Jim was growing anxious. At the longest he could 
not keep in the air for more than four hours, and two 
of those precious hours were already gone. He must 
leave himself sufficient ‘‘juice’^ to make the land and 
this new zig-zag must not occupy more than half-an- 
hour. 

He had purposely taken the machine to a great 
height to enlarge his field of vision and that meant a 
still further burden upon his limited supply of petrol. 

He was almost despairing when he saw in the far dis¬ 
tance a tiny white arrow of foam—the ship whose wake 
it was he could not see. His hand strayed to the key 
of his little wireless and he sent a message quivering 
through the ether. There was no response. He waited 


324 


BLUE HAND 


a minute and again the key clattered and clicked. 
Again a silence and he flashed an angry message. 
Then through his ear pieces he heard a shrill wail of 
sound—the steamer was responding. 

^^What ship is that?” 

He waited, never doubting that he would learn it was 
some small merchant vessel. There was a whine and 
then: 

^T-E-A-L-I-G-O;^ was the reply. 

♦ 5|e SK * 

Digby had gone forward to see what the men were 
doing who were swung over the side. He was delighted 
to discover that they were painting out the word 
Pealigo and were substituting Malaga. 

He went up to the captain in his most amiable mood. 

‘‘That is a good thought of yours,” he said, “chang¬ 
ing the name, I mean.” 

The captain nodded. 

“By your orders, of course,” he said. 

“Of course,” smiled Digby, “by my orders.” 

All the time he was standing there chatting to the 
Brazilian he noticed that the man constantly turned his 
eyes to the north, scanning the sky. 

“You don’t think that the aeroplane will come so far 
out, do you? How far are we from the coast?” 

“We are a hundred and twelve miles from the Eng¬ 
lish coast,” said the skipper, “and that isn’t any great 
distance for a seaplane.” 

Digby with unusual joviality slapped him on the 
back. 


BLUE HAND 325 

^^You are getting nervous,” he said. “He won^t 
come now.” 

A man had come on to the bridge whom Digby rec¬ 
ognized as the wireless operator. He handed a message 
to the captain, and he saw the captain^s face change. 

“What is it?” he asked quickly. 

Without a word the man handed the written slip: 

^‘Ship heading south, send me your name and number.’* 

“Who is it from?” asked Digby, startled at this 
voice from nowhere. 

The captain, supporting his telescope against a 
stanchion, scanned the northern skies. 

“I see nothing,” he said with a frown. “Possibly 
it came from one of the land stations; there is no ship 
in sight.” 

“Let us ask him who he is,” said Digby. 

The three went back to the wireless room and the 
operator adjusted his ear pieces. Presently he began 
writing, after a glance up at the captain, and Digby 
watched, fascinated, the movements of the pencil. 

“Heave to. I am coming aboard you.” 

“What does it mean?” said Digby. 

The captain went out on the deck and again made a 
careful examination of the sky. 

“I can’t understand it,” he said. 

“The signal was close, senhor captain—it was less 
than three miles away,” broke in the operator. 

The captain rubbed his nose. 

“I had better stop,” he said. 

“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” stormed Digby. 
“You’ll go on until I tell you to stop.” 


326 


BLUE HAND 


They returned to the bridge, and the captain stood 
with one hand on the telegraph, undecided. 

And then right ahead of them, less than half a mile 
away, something fell into the water with a splash. 

^‘W^at was that?” said Digby. 

He was anwered immediately. From the place 
where the splashing had occurred arose a great mass of 
billowing smoke which sped along the sea, presenting 
an impenetrable veil. Smoke was rising from the sea 
to their right, and the captain, shading his eyes, looked 
up. Directly over them it seemed was a silvery shape, 
so small as to be almost invisible if the sun had not 
caught the wing tips and painted them silver. 

‘‘This, my friend,” said the captain, “is where many 
things happen.” He jerked over the telegraph to stop. 

“Wjhat is it?” asked Digby. 

“It was a smoke bomb, and I prefer a smoke bomb 
half a mile away to a real bomb on my beautiful ship,” 
said the captain. 

For a moment Digby stared at him, and then with a 
scream of rage he sprang at the telegraph and thrust 
it over to full-ahead. Immediately he was seized from 
behind by two sailors, and the captain brought the 
telegraph back to its original position. 

“You will signal to the senhor aviator, to whom you 
have already told the name of the ship, if you have 
obeyed my orders,” he said to the operator, “and say 
that I have put Mr. Digby Groat in irons!” 

And five minutes later this statement was nearly 
true. 

Down from the blue dropped that silvery dragon fly, 
first sweeping round the stationary vessel in great 


oci 



BLUE HAND 327 

circles until it settled like a bird upon the water close 
to the yacht’s side. 

The captain had already lowered a boat, and whilst 
they were fixing the shackles on a man who was be¬ 
having like a raving madman in his cabin below, Jim 
Steele came lightly up the side of the ship and followed 
the captain down the companionway. 

Above the rumble of the yacht’s machinery Eunice 
had heard the faint buzz of the descending seaplane, 
but had been unable to distinguish it until the yacht 
stopped, then she heard it plainly enough and ran to 
the port-hole, pulling aside the silk curtain. 

Yes, there it was, a buzzing insect of a thing, that 
presently passed out of sight on the other side. What 
did it mean? What did it mean, she wondered. Was 
it—and then the door flew open and a man stood there. 
He was without collar or waistcoat, his hair was 
rumpled, his face bleeding, and one link of a steel 
handcuff was fastened about his wrist. It was Digby 
Groat, and his face was the face of a devil. 

She shrank back against the bed as he came stealthily 
toward her, the light of madness in his eyes, and then 
somebody else came in, and he swung round to meet 
the cold, level scrutiny of Jim Steele. 

With a yell like a wild beast, Digby sprang at the 
man he hated, but the whirling steel of the manacle 
upon his hand never struck home. Twice Jim hit 
him, and he fell an inert heap on the ground. In 
another second Eunice was in her lover’s arms, sobbing 
her joy upon the breast of his leather jacket. 


THE END 


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